


Love With Its Back Turned

by orphan_account



Category: Tenkuu no Escaflowne | The Vision of Escaflowne
Genre: M/M, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-12
Updated: 2011-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-23 16:30:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 28
Words: 163,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hate is a force of attraction. Hate is only love with its back turned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enter the Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> FAIR WARNING: I wrote this story in 2001, and haven't revisited it since. I am just resurrecting it on request and make absolutely no representations as to its quality. And I am wincing retrospectively. There are a lot of words beginning with 're' in this note. I would like to apologise to poor Terry Pratchett for dragging anything he wrote into contact with this, but that would involve admitting what I'd done.  
> One thing I do remember is that the text reflects some confusion on my part as to the timing of the change of colour on Folken's wings, so I apologise for that (but can't be arsed to edit it).  
> Oh, and here's the note that went with this originally:  
> Please note: this is a ' yaoi lemon.' Readers who are offended by depictions of homosexuality, and/or descriptions of sexual activity ranging from masturbation through 'heavy petting' to full intercourse (er… not necessarily all at once or in that order), should not continue. Readers who know darn well that their parents would not like them reading about this type of thing should also skedaddle.  
> The continuity of this story is unrelated to that of any of my other Escaflowne fanfics; it's simply intended as an ‘alternate universe’ story branching off from the continuity of the TV series. (And in case anyone ever wonders: no, I have no idea what happens to Hitomi in this version. I presume she’ll be all right.)

The rescue attempt failed. Hitomi, at the time, did not quite understand why and how; her perceptions were blurred by contradictory flashes of precognition, as though destiny itself was not sure how things were going to turn out, as though the fates were arguing in her head. Something shifted. Something that was to be suddenly was not. The impression of danger suddenly came from a different direction, but by now all her impressions were so muddled and diffuse that it was impossible to determine its nature.

The dark figure of Van's brother was above them on the catwalk; he held Van's sword in his hand. He held it out as though to drop it and then did not move. Something shifted, or switched, that was all she could think. There was a moment of suspension amid the chaotic noise of the raid; she had a sense of silence even while she could hear Gaddes bellowing at the men of the _Crusade_.

The moment stretched out like the soap-skin of a bubble, and Van broke it.

'Are you taunting me?' he cried out, glaring up at the black-cloaked man. 'What the hell do you want?'

'Van, we have to _go_ ,' Hitomi began, but he was turning away and did not hear her, heading impetuously towards a staircase that would bring him up to his brother's perch. The noise was increasing, echoing everywhere in this metallic hangar space. She started forward after him, but her arm was caught by a strong hand. She looked back with a gasp of alarm and saw Allen, dishevelled and with a high colour in his face.

'It's no good, we have to go,' he told her, raising his voice to be heard over the din.

'What? But Van - '

'Van's alive. We'll have other chances. Hitomi, come with me right now, it isn't safe to wait a moment longer.'

Mentally battered by those unstable images, she didn't have the confidence or presence of mind to refuse. In any case, he was already pulling her along by main force. She stumbled but kept running, the metal floor jarring her legs with every footfall. A few heartbeats later they were back on the _Crusade_ and fleeing; she was leaning against the wall and staring back at the floating fortress; Merle was loudly asking where Van-sama was; men were shouting, steam was hissing, and all she could think was that this was all wrong… that something had gone wrong in the way things were meant to have been.

'We had run out of time,' Allen said later. 'A strike like that, with a smaller number of men, only works if you can take the enemy by surprise and get in and out quickly. It was a calculated risk. We could stay no longer. In a few more seconds their reinforcements would have arrived and we would all have been taken. Would you have wanted that? We could hear them coming. I had to try to get you out safely. Van can look after himself - although I can't imagine why he would run back like that. He's very rash.' He looked as though he felt guilty and was trying to talk himself out of it.

'We left him,' Hitomi said softly. 'He was distracted because he saw his brother. His brother works for Zaibach. I don't know how or why that is. I didn't know he _had_ a brother.'

'Then he's probably in no immediate danger,' Allen said. 'We'll watch for our next opportunity and try again. I am not abandoning the King. We simply couldn't pull it off this time.' He tried to look into Hitomi's eyes, to convince her of his good intentions, but she looked stonily at her hands, folded in her lap. They were marked with thin red scratches, matching the three angry lines scored across her cheekbone. Merle had become hysterical when she realised Van had not been rescued and had attacked those who tried to comfort her. She was in a cabin now, sobbing passionately into a pillow, enveloped in her grief to the exclusion of human contact.

'It's all gone wrong,' Hitomi murmured. 'Something has been set in motion that wasn't meant to be.'

'I did my best for you,' Allen said helplessly, holding out his white-gloved hands like a testimony of innocence.

'It wasn't _for_ me,' said Hitomi, and she rose from her chair and left the room without a word more for the knight she had idealised.

 

Van woke with a feeling of suffocation. As he gulped air the sensation was replaced by incredulous indignation; Folken had done it to him _again_ , knocked him out with the sting of one stainless-steel claw as soon as he got close enough. Whatever drug it was, it made him afraid to think what two doses in such quick succession might do to him. His mind felt blurry and hectic, and the feverish feeling did not diminish within a few moments of waking, as he would have expected. A bright cold white light was shining down onto him from not very far above, and it was already giving him a headache as he squinted through his eyelashes.

He took stock of his situation. He was lying on a bed - no, a sort of pallet or slab, because it was not soft enough to be a mattress. His clothes and boots were gone and he had been put into some kind of nightshirt, made of some odd fabric that felt more like thin paper than cloth. There were gaps in the back of it and he could feel cold metal against his skin. He felt too giddy to raise his head, and his mazed senses were getting around to informing him that there were firm restraints holding his arms and legs flat against the slab. Apart from the light pinning him down, the room seemed mostly dark, with huge shadowy shapes against the walls. His eyes got a little more used to the dazzle and he determined that the light came from a globe on the end of a jointed metal arm extending from the wall behind his head. Part of the darkness at the periphery of vision moved and became his brother, approaching the bed almost soundlessly. He looked down at Van with an expression of remote concern.

'What are you doing?' Van asked. He sounded drunk, he thought; co-ordinating his lips and tongue to speak the short sentence was an unaccustomed effort. 'What's going on here?'

'I didn't expect you to wake,' Folken said. He tipped his head to one side and smiled a little as though he were somewhat proud of Van's feistiness, but deprecating it at the same time. 'You'll sleep again soon. I see that I can't persuade you to join me freely. But I can't help believing that there is something in you that responds to what I say. I don't believe you would come back to me just for a sword. You'd probably object to what I propose to do, except that you won't be able to. When it's complete you won't even remember this conversation, so it means very little to explain it to you now. I'm just giving you… medicine… that will temporarily overcome your resistance to my ideas.' He reached out with his good hand and gently touched Van's right arm, left bare by the short sleeve of the flimsy gown. Turning his head, with difficulty, Van saw that a needle had been inserted into the soft inner bend of his elbow, and attached to it was a transparent tube filled with a greyish pale liquid. The liquid was moving, being fed into his veins. His arm's muscles tightened involuntarily at the sight, and he felt a twinge of dull pain, but it seemed distant. The room seemed to be rushing away from him in all directions, leaving an emptiness in the centre of his head.

'I knew… knew it,' he managed to say, fighting for self-mastery. 'Your puppet…' His fear and anger should give him the strength to struggle, but the adrenaline did not seem to be making its way through his veins. He imagined it as vivid spring green being swamped and diluted by the null grey of the drug.

'Nothing so unpleasant,' Folken said. His voice was both soothing and alarming to Van, the voice that had read him bedtime stories now leading him into a nightmare. 'I can't control you like that. But we do have drugs that can alter or limit memory. Carefully administered, and accompanied by the right stimuli and suggestions - you'll soon be in something like a hypnotic state, free of pain - they can… adjust the way a person thinks and feels. You will think and act freely, but you will base your thoughts and actions upon the principles we will introduce. And Van… I really believe you will be happier. I'm doing all this for your own good. You can't see that this is right because you are so hemmed in by the beliefs you were brought up with. If I free you from those, and give you an opportunity to experience the truth as I know it… dearest brother, you'll see the hope that sustains me. Once you understand that, there'll be no need for artifice, for drugs like this… and we can move towards our bright destiny together.'

His good hand, the hand that was still human, moved up to stroke Van's forehead, brushing back the soft, tousled hair that fell into his eyes, smoothing the tense frown that knit Van's dark brows. He was losing even the power to control his facial muscles.

'You'll sleep again soon,' he whispered, and bending forward, gave Van the same goodnight kiss that had assured him sweet dreams as a child.

With his last strength, Van spat at him. It could not have gone far, but with his brother so close it did not need to; it spattered weakly on the side of Folken's neck. His final conscious thought was one of irritation that it had not been more dramatic than that. Then the pale greyness spreading out in his head reached the furthest edges, and he sank into nullity.

 

Not a muscle of Dilandau's face moved. His normal eerie animation had quite deserted him, and he seemed to be wearing a pretty, smooth mask. He listened with perfect composure to what Folken had to say. Then he appeared to consider his words, and spoke.

'You are fucking joking.'

'I am perfectly in earnest. And if I hear such repulsive language from you again, Dilandau, you will be severely punished. I chose to tell you first and apart because I wished to impress upon you that you may not show any such objection to Van's presence before the Dragonslayers. You must set a good example and include him completely in the normal routine.' Folken regarded the boy levelly over steepled hands. They both sat in low black chairs; that Folken had not required his subordinate to stand before him to receive orders had been intended as a subtle pandering to Dilandau's arrogance, suggesting he was being taken into confidence as an equal. He had thought it might make things easier. Unfortunately, subtlety did not really work on Dilandau. He was as direct as the thrust of a blade. In that case, he must be firmly blocked.

Dilandau's mouth worked as though he were biting his lips from the inside. 'Permission to speak freely,' he said.

'Permission denied. Make your tone less surly.'

'It's ridiculous! He's the _target!_ It makes as much sense as putting a fox into a pack of hounds!' Dilandau burst out, slapping the arm of his chair with one black-gloved hand. That he did not thump it with a fist was a sign that he was trying to restrain himself when talking to a superior officer, Folken thought with some amusement.

'Since I did not give you permission to say that, I am forced to disregard it. I knew how you would feel, Dilandau. And this is the decision I made. You can accept it with a good grace, or you can accept punishment. Your objection is irrational, in any case. My brother has never done anything to you.'

'He _fought_ me!' Dilandau was quite exasperated at Folken's failure to see the logic.

'You _attacked_ him.'

'And you told me to! I don't understand.'

'You don't need to. I'm Strategos, remember?' He raised one eyebrow sardonically.

'Yes, Folken-sama.'

Both their heads turned as the sliding door to the next room was opened. Amber light from an oil lamp spilled out and competed with the softly hissing blue flare of the gas mantle mounted on the table between the chairs. It also outlined the shadow of Van Fanel, dressed in the uniform of the Dragonslayers.

'Brother,' he said, with a preoccupied air, 'I can't do up my collar. These gloves are too thick.'

'I'll help you,' Folken said, rising and moving towards him. 'Why don't you take the gloves off?' he asked as he fastened the hook and eye inside the high collar of the leather tunic.

'They're part of the sleeves,' Van complained. 'They're not what I'm used to. Everything's leather. I squeak when I walk.' He stood calmly with his chin tilted up to let his brother work, although he was frowning with discontent. His eyes flicked in Dilandau's direction. 'Who's that?' he asked, with a corresponding jerk of his head.

Dilandau was sitting with his mouth slightly open, momentarily speechless with rage. Firstly, he was insulted by the way they had both ignored him. When Van entered he should have been introduced immediately, and in a suitably impressive fashion. Secondly… he found his voice.

'He's got red armour!' he sputtered.

'So?' said Van, turning as Folken released his collar, and looking at Dilandau as though he did not impress him at all. 'So have you.'

'Because _I_ am the _captain_. Only the captain wears red!' Dilandau stamped to his feet and glared at the brothers, his garnet eyes blazing.

'And now so does Van.' Folken looked at Dilandau warningly, and he subsided with a mutinous glower on his face. 'Van,' Folken went on smoothly, 'this is Dilandau Albatou, the captain of the Dragonslayers unit. You have already met, but not, I think, been introduced. And Dilandau, this is Van Slanzar de Fanel, my younger brother, now assigned to the Dragonslayers.'

Van stepped forward, right hand extended in front of him. Dilandau looked at it with ill-concealed scorn.

'Don't you know about shaking hands?' Van asked, with much the same manner. Dilandau offered his right hand very grudgingly, and the small ceremony was performed.

'We seem to be on the same side now,' Van commented.

'That's how it seems,' Dilandau agreed with the wording of the phrase.

'I hope we can work together without unnecessary unpleasantness.'

'Quite.' Dilandau had his own views on what was necessary. They stood there, each still gripping the other's hand, gazes locked. Dilandau was confident in his ability to unnerve anyone by staring them down.

Van smiled, a light, arrogant smile of conscious superiority. Although Dilandau would have died rather than show any visible reaction, even in the depths of his eyes, it shocked him to be so defied. How dare a prisoner of war look at him that way? He felt angry blood rising in his face and cursed himself for appearing to blush.

'I'm sure you two will soon be as thick as thieves,' Folken said dryly. 'Come with us, Dilandau. I think Van should see where the Dragonslayers live and train. You can point everything out for him.'

They moved down the sterile corridors three abreast, Folken walking in the middle. Dilandau was glad of the barrier, not as protection, but because it meant he did not have to look at that insufferable crow in borrowed plumage. Just as a precaution, he stole a look beyond Folken's broad chest and found that Van was looking at _him_. And still smiling. Eyes _front_ , Dilandau commanded himself. He glared ahead, humiliated by the feeling of flame in his cheeks. They reached the exercise hall.

'This is where we train,' he said ungraciously, avoiding addressing Van by name. 'Sword racks are over there, weights are over there, rings and bars are over _there_ and that's the door to the locker room and showers.'

'This looks like quite a good facility,' Van said. Dilandau, perhaps, found his tone more patronising than he meant it to be. 'Do you always use those practice swords?' He nodded at the wooden mock-blades resting in the racks.

'We don't have to,' said Dilandau, casting a glance at the sword on Van's belt. That was another thing that got on his nerves. It wasn't standard issue. It had a blue scabbard and a fancy gold hilt. He put his hand on the hilt of his own sword and felt a little reassured. He glanced up at Folken for direction, but the Strategos appeared to feel he could give Dilandau his head in this matter.

'I'll show you the lockers,' he went on briskly. There was not much to show. They were functional and simple, blue-painted metal cupboards, each personalised only by a small nameplate on the door. The exception was Dilandau's, painted glossy red. He noticed Van's eyes flick to its place in the row and gritted his teeth at the look of amusement on the boy's face. Dilandau was finding this very stressful. He was unused to suppressing hostile feelings for so long at a time. It was making the back of his neck ache. Van walked along the row of lockers reading the nameplates aloud.

'Biore, Gatti, Guimel…' He paused at the red door. 'Oh, here's yours, Dilandau.'

 _You know bloody well it's mine. What are you commenting for?_ Dilandau bit his lip on the inside.

'But where’s mine?' Van asked his brother.

'One will be added for you,' Folken assured him. 'It's a modular design so that's easily done.'

 _It had better not be painted red or I shall do something desperate_ , Dilandau mentally added.

'Here are the showers,' he said, a touch loudly. 'We all have to share so you needn't bother making a fuss about it being communal. No-one gets much privacy and there's no room for silly modesty.'

'Silly modesty has never been a problem with you, Dilandau,' said Folken. 'I hope you'll follow his example, Van.'

Dilandau strongly suspected that the Strategos was making fun of him. This gave weight to his private theory that Folken was in some ways quite subnormal. There was a word for people like that, idiot savant. They could be technically brilliant in some specialised areas and understand nothing in others. Making fun of Dilandau was ridiculous in itself.

'Where does that door lead to?' Van asked, pointing at the far wall.

'The dorm,' said Dilandau. He led the way, and found to his dismay that the Dragonslayers were in residence, all fifteen of them. He had not heard them from inside the locker room because this was one of the few rest periods they were allowed in a day, and they were all quietly occupied, some reading, some writing careful letters home, mindful of what they could say without crossing the security censor, and four playing cards on and around Gatti's bed. They all looked up as he entered; they always did, having learned to recognise his tread. In a rest period, it was tacitly understood, he did not require them to stand to attention or to salute, but a failure to respectfully acknowledge his entrance would merit a thick ear.

'Good afternoon, Dilandau-sama,' they chorused, and 'Good afternoon, Folken-sama,' as the tall figure behind him came into sight. The arrival of the Strategos seemed to throw them into something of a quandary; did the rules about informality during rest period still apply, or did his unwonted presence in the dormitory mean they had to pull their socks up? Gatti quickly gathered up the cards and slipped them into his pillowcase, just in case.

Then Van entered and they all simply stared. Miserably conscious of their questioning gaze, Dilandau muttered 'And this is where we all sleep.'

Van looked up and down the long room, at the two rows of eight beds each. They stood with their heads against the wall, and running down the centre of the room was a sort of gangway of clear space. Everything was neat and trim, from the hospital corners on the blue quilts covering the beds, to the small white-painted chests of drawers containing shirts, socks and underwear between the beds, to the large grey footlockers containing outer clothes and footwear at the ends of the beds. In the dormitory the Dragonslayers were permitted a few personal items, so the tops of the drawers sported small framed pictures of loved ones. (On Dilandau's drawers stood a small mirror.) The standard official portrait of Lord Dornkirk at the end of the room had been decorated, with red and blue crepe-paper streamers and rosettes, by Guimel and Chesta in a fit of patriotism on the eve of the invasion.

'It's cosy,' he remarked, 'in a Spartan sort of way.'

'You'll notice, however, that there's no bed for you,' Dilandau said. He felt a need to claim control of the conversation. He had had enough of Van looking around and making comments in that lordly way. And that remark seemed like a good way to make him feel unwelcome, while allowing him to protest to Folken that he had simply been making an observation, the same as Van had in the locker-room.

'Of course not,' said Folken, to Dilandau's great surprise.

'Then where will I sleep?' Van asked. 'Am I still going to be on the cot in your room?'

'I'll show you,' Folken said, and walked towards the other door out of the dormitory. Van followed him, and after a moment's stymied hesitation, Dilandau did too, hissing 'Later!' over his shoulder to Biore's whispered enquiry as to what was going on. Technically, he had not been invited to join the brothers and he supposed he might get into trouble, but he had also not been told to remain with the others, and he was damned if he was going to hang meekly back and not _know_ anything.

Folken led them down the outer corridor a little way and opened a door.

'Here you are, Van,' he said, waving his brother into the room beyond. Dilandau followed, causing Folken to raise his eyebrows, but he felt prepared to take the consequences of that.

It looked like an officer's quarters. Dilandau stood there with shock and rage hissing off him like steam while Folken pointed out the features of the room to Van.

'You have a bed, a desk, a wardrobe there, and in the alcove a small bathroom. Do you remember how to operate the shower?'

'You showed me in yours,' Van said, looking into the slate-tiled shower recess with interest.

'I'm sorry it's so small,' Folken said, 'but you can make yourself comfortable. As you said, Spartan.'

'It looks like bloody luxury to me,' Dilandau said, forgetting himself. The other two appeared to have forgotten him until then. They both turned and looked at him, and Van had that damn' smile on again.

'I suppose it _is_ rather better than what you're used to,' said Van.

Dilandau's fists itched. He ground his teeth together so hard that his jaw ached. 'It's no better than I deserve,' he said coldly. Folken gave him another Look. He then directed a more normal glance at the clock on the wall.

'I have to go,' he said. 'I have a meeting with General Adelfos. I'll leave you to settle in, Van - and of course, if there is anything you need you can ask Dilandau. I know he'll be co-operative.' He left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Dilandau watched to make sure he was really gone, and then turned and pounced, shoving Van back against the desk with a forearm across his throat. Unfortunately for Dilandau they both stumbled against the chair that went with the desk, and Van improved the opportunity to shove back. Dilandau found himself flat on his face on the bed, the edge of the bedstead digging painfully into his stomach, with one arm twisted up behind him. Van put a knee in the middle of his back and gave it a dig.

'Don't do that,' Van said. 'I don't have to take it.'

'If you're a Dragonslayer you do. You're under me, goddamn it, no matter who your brother is!'

' _I'm_ under _you_?' Van bounced gently on that knee, making Dilandau wince. 'You're going to have to get used to some changes. You _don't_ tell me what to do. You _don't_ raise your hand to me. And I advise you not to turn your back on me. I was willing to be nice but since you showed you weren't, that's absolutely fine with me. I've got no reason to like you.'

'Get off me, you bastard,' Dilandau hissed.

'Not yet.' Bounce, bounce. It was hard to breathe under his weight, and the twisted arm was painfully strained. 'Say, Van is King.'

'Fuck off.'

'I can wait as long as you can. I'm not tired.' Bounce. Harder.

All Dilandau wanted now was to get out of this humiliating situation. He was desperate to be back in the dormitory, where people feared and idolised him and he could figure out exactly how he would take his revenge. It would be something painful and public. With all the others there. With them to back Dilandau up Van wouldn't be so cocky. He swallowed hard and took a preparatory breath.

'Van is King,' he said, his voice low and harsh.

'That would sound even better a bit louder.'

'Van is King. I said it, let me go.'

'I'd like them to be able to hear you in the next room,' Van said wistfully. 'But it'd be no fun to have everything in one go, would it? I've got to save something for later.' He released the pressure on Dilandau's arm and stepped back. Dilandau got to his feet, doing his damnedest to move smoothly. He would not rub his aching back or wrist until he was well out of Van's sight. He waited till he was halfway through the door and poised to move fast before he spoke again.

'Van is King of an ash-heap.' He followed that up with his most predatory grin.

Van regarded him coldly. 'Uh-huh. Don't let the doorknob hit you in the ass on the way out.'

Dilandau slammed the door as hard as he could.

 

When he returned to the dorm, the boys were standing in an anxious huddle in the gangway, making a buzz of conjecture about what they had just seen. Dilandau made a point of walking in calmly. He had waited a few moments in the corridor outside, which he felt were long enough for his colour to get back to normal, while he ran his fingers through his hair to restore it to something like its proper style.

Everyone fell quiet as Dilandau entered, but they were unsure of how to greet him. The boys nearest the door stepped back quickly as he approached, and they all gradually parted to let him stalk down the centre of the room, wordlessly.

After some electoral shoving, Chesta was selected as spokesman for the group. 'D-dilandau-sama?' he stammered. 'Is something wrong? What's going on?' He flinched as Dilandau wheeled round to face him, but stood ready to take the blow. It didn't come. He opened one eye, cautiously, and found Dilandau's face looking livid with tension. He was fighting a battle with himself, and for once he felt he could not throw the match. If he didn't follow Folken's orders, the Strategos _would_ find out, somehow, and there would be penalties. He could even be forbidden to fly and to fight. Especially, he thought with a sick, falling feeling, now that there was an extra Dragonslayer to fill his position. _Don't worry_ , he counselled himself. _The boys will be on your side no matter what happens. You don't need to win them over._

'That was Van Fanel with me and Folken-sama,' he said. 'Did you know they're brothers? Folken-sama has apparently convinced his brother to join us. He has his own sleeping arrangements but otherwise he will be a member of this unit. So get used to it.'

The boys exchanged disquieted glances. This was thoroughly weird; Dilandau-sama was transparently very angry, and yet he wasn't cuffing people, biting himself or even yelling. It was the biting that upset them most. He could hurt himself that way.

'Dilandau-sama, are you feeling all right?' Gatti asked, honest concern in his eyes.

'I feel fan-fucking-tastic, Gatti, thank you for asking. Why shouldn't I? Why shouldn't I indeed? How much rest period have we got left?

'Until dinner,' Gatti said, glancing at the alarm clock by the nearest bed. 'About twenty-five minutes.'

'Well, no reason to be lazy. We could get some good sparring practice in between now and then. I'm up for it. Any volunteers?'

Although a few people at the back, who had less chance of being seen, exchanged pained glances, there was no question of anyone _not_ volunteering.

 

Folken watched the screen replaying the events of the last few minutes in Van's room. He had wondered what would happen when the two were left alone, but he couldn’t say he was surprised. Dilandau should really be disciplined for such flagrant disobedience, but perhaps he had been punished enough. The bashing his ego had taken would probably smart more than anything Folken could inflict.

So Van was holding his own. Something like this was not unforeseen; the literature on this drug made note of the fact that the range of side-effects observed in test subjects had included lowered inhibitions and increased aggression. After weighing his options Folken had concluded that this was no obstacle. It might even be helpful. He decided it was about time he gave his brother some privacy. The screen went dark.


	2. Making the Cut

They did not see Van until breakfast time the next day. Dilandau supposed he must have made his own arrangements about dinner. In fact that had made him hope that he would also not have to endure Van's presence during meals. But there he was in the mess, ready to get in line with a tray. His uniform was, of course, brand new, but it still seemed remarkably shiny, as though he had given it an extra polish. The curved and spiked shoulder-plates were such a brilliant cherry-red that Dilandau was afraid his own looked dull by comparison. He resolved to make Biore buff them to a mirror finish (it was his day to look after Dilandau's armour, just as it was Guimel's day to give him a towel after exercise and Dalet's day to make his bed).

Dilandau squared his shoulders and took a tray over to the serving hatch. The server there, a pale young woman with bronzy-blonde hair, gave him a nervous grin. He favoured her with a crooked smile of his own. That was another comforting thought. Van was most certainly not as attractive as he was. Dilandau was not especially interested in girls, seeing them as rather inferior, if useful creatures, but he took it for granted that they were intensely, breathlessly interested in him. This one definitely was. A simple smile made her eyes dilate darkly and her cheeks bloom pink; she looked away, flustered, and Dilandau smugly thought _That's got her wet for the rest of the day, then._ If he ever got around to bestowing sexual favours on any of the female staff, it would not be this one; pretty, but not on his level. It was just knowing that he _could_ have her that was so gratifying.

Her hands trembling slightly, she ladled porridge, scrambled egg and stewed apple into the compartments of his tray. Powdered egg again, Dilandau observed with disgust. Surely the Empire could do better than that to feed its finest soldiers. He would have to have a word with someone. He was not keen on eggs in any case; most of the food they were given was entirely too stodgy. Yoghurt and fresh fruit would have pleased him better at this time of day. He nodded to the girl and slid his tray further down the line to take some honey from the jar on the benchtop to add to his porridge. Van was the next in line behind him and he found himself watching to see how the serving girl reacted to Mr Shiny Armour.

Then he found his attention more caught by how Van reacted to _her_. He was looking down at his tray with an expression somewhere between shy and mulish, letting his long bangs hang down and mask his eyes. He looked like nothing special at all when he did that; he looked like a round-shouldered rural hick, in Dilandau's opinion. The girl, curse her for a fickle bitch, was smiling flirtatiously at him.

'Good morning!' she said. She was too much in awe of Dilandau to actually talk to him. 'You're new, aren't you?'

Van muttered something that might have been an affirmative and _blushed_. Dilandau caught himself just before he would have broken out in a delighted chuckle. _He's shy around pretty girls! What a loser!_ This improved his mood to no end. He proceeded to the table with a spring in his step. He heard Van follow, and the serving girl, bless her for a lamb, giggle mockingly as he left.

It was nice to start his morning on a high note like that. Last night had not been a happy time at all. He had felt slightly better after the exertion of the sparring, but the source of his irritation was not gone when it was over, and so the resentment and fury had gradually welled up again to fill and drown his mind. He could not stop thinking about it and there was nothing he could _do_. In bed that night his usual fantasies of future glory had been small comfort; they seemed threatened by unforeseen possibilities. Even masturbation had not made him feel much better, which was really saying something.

Dilandau had been a very devoted and increasingly skilful lover to himself for some years now; he excited himself as the thought of no-one else could, which made perfect sense to him. If you are the most beautiful person around, he reasoned, no-one else can have quite the same effect on you. No-one else was _worthy_ to touch him that way. His only rule about masturbation was that it should not disturb others sleeping in the dorm, and so night after night he had filled his body with the most exquisite sensation without a trace of self-reproach. It sometimes really felt as though 'himself' was a separate entity, a sort of demon-lover possessing his hands so that he did not know what would happen next; he pressed his sweating face into the pillow to muffle his rapid breathing and the irrepressible little sounds that rose in his throat as he rode the waves of pleasure all the way down to sweet swirling crimson darkness.

That was the joy that never became stale to him, that he had been born into such an unutterably strong, beautiful body. Perfect all over. Every mirror showed him, every admiring look. He was capable of absolutely anything he set his heart upon because of this body. That was how he had always felt. He was a special being, elect, and when he struck and humiliated others it was all a part of this natural dominance. It was the divine order of things. To be physically humiliated himself, as he had been in Van's room, felt like more of a violation to him than most people would have realised. His champion, his lover, had fallen, had failed him; a splinter had been driven between them, rupturing their perfect union. Last night, although he had really tried hard - in fact, he had taken care to give himself the works, as he did not always have the patience to do - he had not been perfectly happy. Frustration of any kind was not a familiar emotion to Dilandau and suddenly it beset him on all sides. He felt strongly that he would not _be_ perfectly happy until the source of his disquiet was not only gone, but completely purged from his world.

The source of his disquiet currently sat two seats over from him at the breakfast table, pushing scrambled egg around with his fork and looking bored. Although there were boys sitting on either side of Van, they were not talking to him. Dilandau felt that the Dragonslayers had sensed his feelings about the interloper and were accordingly ostracising him out of loyalty. That was excellent. _You may have had the advantage yesterday_ , he thought, _but you just caught me by surprise. I've marshalled my forces now and by day's end you will be very sorry you crossed me._

Van tore himself away from the contemplation of rubbery egg and turned to Migel, who happened to be sitting at his left. 'Do you happen to know what we're doing today?' he asked. 'No-one has told me.'

'That's because it's my job to tell you,' Dilandau said, cutting across Migel before he had time to reply. 'I announce the training schedule day by day when we aren't called into action.'

'You didn't tell me where or when dinner was yesterday,' Van said, frowning. 'I expected to be sent for. In the end I went hunting for the kitchens by myself and had to ask the staff cleaning up if they could heat me up some leftovers. You aren't very well organised.'

'I naturally assumed that Folken-sama would have told you about something as basic as mealtimes,' Dilandau snapped back. 'For your future benefit, we have dinner here every evening at eighteen hundred hours.'

'That's no good,' Van said. 'I'm not ready for dinner by six in the evening.'

'Well, six is when we _have_ dinner.' Dilandau realised belatedly that he was gripping his fork so tightly that the metal was bending a little under his thumb. He kept thinking how nice it would be to pop the tines into Van's eye. He imagined it bursting like the slit yolk of a fried egg. Thick blood and vitreous humour weeping down Van's brown cheek. Yes please.

'I'm not used to people _telling_ me when to take my meals,' Van said slowly.

'Yeah, well, you're in the army now.'

'I'll speak to my brother,' Van said, with an air of finality, as if this would sort everything out in a satisfactory manner.

The head of the fork was now almost at right-angles to the handle. 'You're saying you're telling on me?'

'Don't be so childish.'

'I could tell _him_ that you're insubordinate.'

Van smiled. 'I really don't think he's going to care. Work it out, Dilandau. Putting me in the Dragonslayers is just convenient, finding a place for me in the structure of the Empire. You're not going to train me in anything, and since you take your orders from him in the first place I'm simply cutting out the middleman when I deal with him directly.'

Migel and Dalet, who was sitting on Van's other side, both leaned away from him in their chairs, rather in the manner of people who find themselves near a tall tree in thundery weather. Any second now Dilandau-sama was going to lose it, and it was always nicer to be out of range when that happened. But, they realised as they watched him, he was still in that weird dangerously-calm mode. The light in his eyes was blazing and snapping, a conflagration of fury, but his face was stony.

'I am a middleman,' he repeated softly. 'And I can't teach you anything. Is this your view?'

'Yes,' said Van equably, 'but don't feel bad about it. You can't help what you are.' He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, staring Dilandau down cat-fashion, lazily, as though he had nothing better to do.

The head of the fork snapped off and tinkled onto the tabletop. The boys stared at it, unnerved.

'Piece of crap,' Dilandau muttered, throwing what was left of it to the floor without sparing it a glance. His eyes were locked on Van. 'You're going to learn, believe me, you arrogant little shit. Do you think what you were in Fanelia means jack here? We're your natural masters! Hell, _Chesta_ could beat you!'

'Um, thank you,' said Chesta uncertainly.

'Shut up, Chesta.' Dilandau threw his table-knife at him without looking. It hit the wall perhaps three millimetres above Chesta's head and stuck there with a noise like a metal ruler plucked over the edge of a desk. Chesta had not had time to move. He made a very small whimpering sound somewhere low in his throat. He could feel a new parting in his hair.

'So let Chesta try,' said Van evenly. 'Maybe he needs to change his pants first, though.'

 

Dilandau strode into the training hall at high speed; apart from anything else he was determined to enter before Van. Crossing to the sword racks, he drew one of the wooden practice blades from its place and turned sharply to face Van, who was trailed by the Dragonslayers. They had moved in a confused cluster in the corridor, but suddenly the atmosphere was formal and they had a model to conform to. They formed a rank and stood motionless in anticipation.

Dilandau held the sword out horizontally, a hand at either end, and waited until he had Van's full attention. Then he brought his right leg up and his hands down and broke the wood across his knee. It was the kind of pointlessly dramatic gesture that he did very well. He let the shattered ends fall to the floor with a clatter, and drew the steel blade from its scabbard at his side. Van was still watching impassively, his failure to draw in response a studied insult. The coldly glinting sword swept around to point to the line of blue-armoured boys behind the young King.

'Forward, Chesta. I don't want to soil a rather good blade on him.'

'So you'll make your subordinates do the dirty work?' Van turned to face Chesta, who was stepping out of the line and drawing his sword very much as if against his better judgement. No-one could show him too much sympathy, since technically to be singled out in this way was an honour.

'They will do _anything_ for me,' Dilandau replied flatly. 'That's a measure of power, wouldn't you say?' He hated talking to Van's back like this. Chesta was looking to him for permission to begin. Typical Chesta. Initiative had never been his strong point. And he always had that knack for saying just the thing, or making just the face, or standing in just the place to annoy Dilandau. He was asking for it, in Dilandau's opinion. No-one should be that pathetic and get away with it. But he was as loyal as a dog, and he was well trained to fight. Dilandau nodded, very slightly, and Chesta charged.

It was a respectable match, not over with humiliating quickness, but it was clear almost from the beginning that Chesta would not win. He looked too worried, was having to work too hard. The best he could do was to hold his ground for a short time, before he was driven back against the wall and Van took his sword from his hand with a swift flick of his blade. Chesta held his smarting hand with his other and looked at the dark boy with something like panic. Those outside the fight might not have been able to see it, but there was a ferocity in Van's eyes that he had only seen before in certain wild animals, and of course, in Dilandau-sama. He looked like someone who didn't stop at disarming you.

But this time - Chesta was alarmed at how naturally he thought of it as _this_ time, as though another time were inevitable - he did not. He turned away, dismissing his fallen opponent utterly, and looked at Dilandau, his free hand on his hip.

'Chesta didn't beat me,' he pointed out.

Dilandau forced himself to breathe slowly. 'Forward, Biore.'

'I'll humour you, shall I?' said Van, smiling.

He beat them each in turn. Dilandau's head ached from grinding his teeth together. He was far too stubborn to back down now, however. As long as he had men to throw at Van he would do so, and somehow, by hellfire, he would prove his point. Each Dragonslayer was fresh to the fight and Van must surely get tired. Besides, watching like this did give Dilandau a certain advantage. He got to observe Van's form against a variety of different opponents, to analyse his style, his preferences, his weaknesses. And he was interested to observe that he was weak in the same way as all the Dragonslayers. For all his ferocity, with that growling cry as he charged at his opponent, he did not strike as though he meant to kill. He knew it was only a practice match and he thought that meant you held back. That was what had always made Dilandau superior. _That_ was why they needed the wooden swords, because if they had practised with sharp blades he would have massacred his own men a dozen times by now. As it was they had all borne long, deep bruises to show them exactly how he could have killed them. Guimel could not turn his head all the way to the right because of the day Dilandau had concentrated on decapitation. Visual aids were so helpful in teaching.

During the fifth fight, between Van and Gillen, the door opened soundlessly and Folken drifted in. Dilandau flinched inwardly. _He's going to stop us. Damn him! He never lets me have fun. His own life's so joyless I guess the only thing he gets off on now is spoiling it for other people._

But Folken did not put a stop to the fights. He merely glided over behind the line of standing, waiting Dragonslayers (and of sitting or slumping boys who had already taken their turn - but who quickly straightened up and tried to look unsweaty when the Strategos appeared) and quietly watched.

 _Gloating over his brother_ , Dilandau seethed. _Fuck 'em both._

'How long do you want to play this game, Dilandau?' Van called out as Migel, who had followed Gillen, crept back to the line, holding his arm. He wheeled to face the albino boy. He was bright-eyed, perspiring and breathing fast, but so far he did not seem anywhere near worn out. He could not seem to stop moving; he was almost dancing on the balls of his feet, shifting rapidly from side to side and apparently ready for anything and anyone.

Over by the wall, Folken noted that. Dilandau was currently wondering how the hell Folken could have known what they were up to in any case; he normally never interrupted training. Folken could have told him a thing or two about surveillance, but what was the point? Dilandau took it for granted that everyone was watching him anyway. Most people who thought that were paranoid. Dilandau was simply extremely vain. The one Folken was really watching these days was Van, watching simply to see how he turned out. He was already so different, all his arrogance and aggression magnified, his moodiness intensified. Would this be an ongoing process? If he simply continued to grow more so, he might become uncontrollable, even by Folken. But it was not simply the issue of control that preoccupied him. There was a little, irrational, inconvenient part of him that protested simply, quietly and persistently that it was a shame to make these changes to a nice boy like Van. He kept seeing the distance between this magnificent young berserker and the long-ago boy-child who had yanked on his arms, demanded stories with different voices for every character, spilled juice on his clothes and fallen asleep in his lap. He would never have come so far by himself. Folken wished he could stop feeling guilty about that.

'I'll play until I win,' Dilandau replied.

'It isn't chess,' Van said, grinning. 'But I guess you don't play chess, because sending pawns after a king one at a time is hardly a conventional strategy.'

'I know the king is the weakest piece on the board,' Dilandau shot back. 'However important he might think he is.'

'Are you the queen in your tiara?' Van asked jeeringly.

'Just shut up!' Dilandau screamed. 'God, I hate guys like you!' He was far too angry to restrain himself now. Let Folken think what he wanted. He had seen enough now. He was ready to prove the point himself. He raised his sword and charged.

The first clash of steel slightly startled Folken; there was a savagery to this bout that the others had lacked. Personal grudges were apt to do that; they also introduced such dangerous instability that he hoped he had never allowed his personal feelings to unduly influence him. Of course he had not. The current state of Fanelia was clear proof of his total objectivity, unalloyed by sentiment. The plans for Freid, too… if people there would just see sense, would behave logically and for the betterment of the majority, there would be no need to make another Fanelia. Dilandau would not see that as a win, but it was the kind of victory Folken craved.

He glanced at the boys before him. When Dilandau stepped forward, they had all tensed in a new way, above and beyond their alertness under the eyes of a superior officer. Whether consciously or not, they were all leaning forward; fists were clenched, teeth were set and pulses, if he was any judge, were rapid.

'Dilandau-sama…' he heard someone mutter, the little blond one with a handkerchief tied around a cut hand. His eyes were so wide they seemed to take over his face. The devotion and belief in his tone half-amused Folken.

For the first time, the outcome of the fight seemed really in question. Dilandau was taller than Van, but not much bigger in build, and in terms of sheer ferocity they seemed well matched. Neither was prepared to simply make and parry strokes; they were both aiming to wound and it seemed a wonder that so far every blow had been blocked.

Dilandau's heart was racing, a drumbeat accelerating to a hum, and he could feel the sweat rolling off him. This was the exhilaration he had sought in the sparring last night, the sheer cleansing fire of hacking and hacking again at what he hated. Nothing else mattered, nothing else was real. His senses contracted down to the circle within which they fought. Glorious, heat and sparks, he thought the blade burned in his grasp. Right now he could breathe fire. All he could think of was how it would feel the first time he chopped into Van's flesh, whether blood would splash in his face, whether Van would scream, whether _he_ would scream in his triumph.

The swords met and hissed down one another's length, locking at the hilts. The two boys strained against one another's strength, almost nose to nose. Van's damp hair clung to his forehead and fell into his eyes; he shook his head irritably and drops of sweat sprayed against Dilandau's face. His mouth was open, panting. He tasted salt. With a feeling of falling forward, he looked into Van's eyes, blazing dark, and saw there a will to master his own. If he let it. He would never let it. It only hardened his resolve.

Dilandau gained the advantage with a savage rising shove. Van overbalanced backwards, lost his footing as Dilandau kicked at his ankle, and windmilled round awkwardly, swinging his arm so wildly in an effort to stop himself that he succeeded in hitting his own temple a dazing blow with the butt of his sword.

The Dragonslayers caught their breath, as one.

Dilandau felt that he rose on a column of fire, the blade of his sword soaring up to swing down in a deadly slash across Van's back. His guard was totally down; he was dazed and momentarily helpless, and Dilandau lived for the moment.

'Behind you, Van.'

And as Dilandau's blade descended, Van's rose, barely under its owner's control, a wild swing up and back with no thought behind it other than to somehow save his life.

Everyone but Van saw Dilandau fall back, his hand to his face. Van tumbled forward, with a clang as the knees of his shin-guards hit the floor. He rolled onto his back as fast as he could, keeping his sword above him, expecting another blow. It did not feel as though he had hit anything.

But Dilandau was on his knees, trembling, almost immobile. His head was bent down so that his ashy fringe hid most of his face; all that was clear was that his right hand was pressed hard against his cheek and temple.

Blood dropped on the floor. A few snippets of grey hair fluttered down and settled on it. Van found himself staring at the blade of his sword, where another grey wisp adhered to a streak of the same red blood.

'You _warned_ him,' said Chesta reproachfully. He was staring up at Folken in apparent outrage. Normally he would not even have had the nerve to look him in the eye. In five minutes' time he would not be able to believe that he had spoken this way.

'It seemed only fair,' Folken said, shrugging. 'Dilandau made a rather cowardly rear attack.'

'He was - he…' Chesta's brain caught up with his mouth and he realised he was arguing with the Strategos. His jaw sagged a little as he turned pale. Folken really wondered what his next move would have been, but something clicked into place in the boy's mind and he broke away, turning with a cry of 'Dilandau-sama!' The Dragonslayers raced towards their stricken commander, but checked themselves, drawing up short within feet of him. Dilandau-sama injured, Dilandau-sama defeated were such unfamiliar ideas that no-one was confident of how to proceed.

'A-are you all right?' Gatti asked, and stepped hestitantly forward, reaching out.

Dilandau raised an arm, stopping him. 'Don't come any closer,' he said, his voice muffled. He slowly raised his head, ignoring the boys standing around him, and stared at Van. From being feverishly dilated, his pupils had gone down to pinholes. He was deathly pale; the blood spilling from between his fingers looked all the redder by contrast.

'My _face_ ,' he said, his voice coming from low in his throat, half-choking on the words. 'My beautiful face. How dare you?'

'Uhh,' said Van, looking slightly pale himself. He could not understand his sick feeling. Perhaps it was just that he had never seen an injury he'd caused at such close quarters before. Fighting in a guymelef was one thing; you never saw the face of the enemy. Fighting hand to hand, he had never really hurt anyone before. But this was ridiculous; he had _wanted_ to hurt Dilandau. More than anything. And by sheer luck he had wounded him where it hurt most, in his vanity.

Dilandau rose unsteadily to his feet, still clutching his cheek. He looked as though he wanted to say more but could not find the words to express his loathing. He looked down at Van, sitting on the floor, and spat once, viciously. It caught Van squarely on the cheekbone, just under his eye, sticky by comparison with the sweat that misted his whole face. Then Dilandau turned sharply and stalked away, towards the door of the locker room, hastily followed by the Dragonslayers.

Van had not yet moved. He slowly raised a hand to wipe away the blot of saliva. His breathing was just beginning to get back to normal. He was certain of only one thing, that that had been the strangest fight that he had ever had. When Dilandau had stared right into his eyes he only hoped he had not shown the jolt he had felt; no emotion he could recognise, just pure nervous electricity.

A shadow fell over him and he looked up to see Folken. His brother did not bend down to him, but looked at him from his lofty height, a vaguely quizzical expression on his long face.

'You don't seem pleased to have won,' he said.

'Well… I'm not sure I won fair and square, I suppose.' Van looked at the soiled palm of his hand. Something about that was giving him a feeling of déjà vu. Yet he couldn't remember anyone ever having had the nerve to spit on him, and he was sure he had never spat at anyone else. Who had ever made him feel such contempt?

'Does that matter when you did win?' Folken asked. 'I trust you are not hurt. Does your head ache?''

'Hardly,' Van said. 'He really hates me now, doesn't he?'

'He already hated you,' said Folken. 'I felt sure you knew. It may be that you have broken him now. Dilandau's appearance is very important to him, and it is a harsh blow to have been humbled in front of his subordinates. But I advise you not to count on that. It is equally possible that you have made matters more difficult for yourself. If you did not wish for him to hate you, your behaviour was very foolish.'

'Of course I knew he hated me,' Van said, 'but I think I didn't _know_ until… you couldn't see his eyes.' He seemed shaken; it was the first wobble in his cast-iron confidence that Folken had seen since he had put him under.

'I may have been mistaken to permit this,' he said. 'You don't need to worry, Van. I will not allow Dilandau to threaten you again.' He turned to go.

'Hey!' The quickest way Van, still sitting, could get his brother to stop walking was to put his heel down on the trailing hem of his leather cloak. Folken paused and looked down, puzzled.

'Don't protect me!' Van said. 'I mean… I mean I'm grateful, brother, of course I'm grateful, but I have to fight my own battles.'

'You are not at war with Dilandau,' Folken pointed out mildly.

'No… I mean… I can deal with him by myself. I mean, I'm sure as hell not afraid of him. I just have to show him who's boss. Teach him respect.'

'You will find that difficult. The most I have ever been able to inculcate in him is fear. And he does not fear me, he fears consequences for his behaviour. Making Dilandau understand that he would have to face consequences was a struggle in itself. When he is excited, he doesn't really think that way.'

'Why do you _use_ someone like that?'

Folken half-smiled. 'Because he's so useful.' He gently tugged his cloak out from under Van's boot-heel. 'Excuse me. For now I leave it up to you.'

 

'Dilandau-sama, you have to let me see. _Please_.' Gatti leaned forward and dared to try to prise Dilandau's hand away from his cheek. Dilandau snarled at him, but did not strike. Reluctantly, he let himself be helped. The Dragonslayers had clustered around him protectively; he had gone to the mirror above the washbasins opposite the lavatories, meaning to inspect the damage, but his nerve had failed him and he stood there hugging himself and shaking. Someone had brought the first-aid box.

'Just tell me how bad it looks,' he muttered.

'Not… not so bad…' said Gatti hesitantly. The cut went right up to the hairline. He tried to smooth Dilandau's tangled, sweaty bangs away from it, his fingers gentle with concern. 'It isn't deep,' he said. 'It's only bleeding so much because of where it is. And it's a clean cut, not ragged at all. It must have been a very sharp blade.'

'Fuck the _blade_ , Gatti, tell me what I _look_ like! I feel like the whole side of my face is torn open!'

'You just have a long thin cut down beside your eye on your cheek,' Gatti said. 'It's just a slit. Honestly. Dalet, can you put some antiseptic on a cotton ball and give it to me? I want to clean this up.'

'He _slit_ my _face_ ,' said Dilandau convulsively, and uttered a sound very like a sob. Everyone stared. Dilandau-sama had never cried in living memory.

'Dilandau…' said Gatti softly.

The punch caught him under the chin and snapped his head back. He fell against a washbasin, clutching the porcelain rim for support.

'Dilandau-SAMA!' Dilandau bellowed at Gatti. 'Don't _ever_ forget yourself like that with me again!'

'I'm forry!' said Gatti. He had bitten his lip and could not speak clearly at first. 'Dilandau-fama… please, I was only worried about you. We all are.'

'You do as I tell you, Gatti, and I did not tell you to worry! You're telling me you have no faith in me!'

'That is _not_ … no… none of us would ever want you to think that. You just had bad luck today!'

'The Strategos helped him!' Chesta put in. 'If he hadn't, I bet you would have won! It was practically _cheating_.'

Dilandau looked at them through eyes narrowed with pain as much as suspicion. They meant it, every word. Every one of the boys gathered around him believed in him totally. Slowly, he relaxed.

'He can't ruin _that_ , anyway,' he mumbled. The others looked at each other. They were not sure what he meant, but this was not the time to ask what might be perceived as an annoying question.

'Dilandau-sama…' said Dalet, holding up the cotton ball. 'Will you please let one of us clean your cut? Gatti is right, it doesn't look deep. It probably doesn't even need stitches, just a clean gauze dressing.'

Dilandau slowly nodded assent. Dalet stepped forward. 'The antiseptic will sting a bit,' he said, very carefully. 'If you can keep still, I can be done faster. I won't hurt you for too long. We don't want you to be upset. It was stupid of Gatti to make you angry, because that pulled on the cut.'

'I really am sorry,' Gatti said again. 'Never again, I swear.'

'You're right,' said Dilandau thoughtfully, as Dalet began to dab at the cut with antiseptic. He was perfectly still under these ministrations. 'It pulls on the cut… it aches and burns because of the anger I feel. It burns like my hate for him.'

'I - I meant because when you shouted the skin stretched,' said Dalet timidly. 'But… but if that's the way you feel…'

'Just be a nurse, Dalet, don't try to psychoanalyse me as well.' Dilandau spoke coldly. He was back in control, his features grim and drawn. 'Incidentally, none of you is to do anything to him in future. We don't need the trouble with the Strategos… and I want him for myself.'

He was looking at the soiled palm of his glove, at the drying blood. His hand closed and tightened.


	3. Cruel and Unusual

After lunch (another meal which Van missed, this time because he had been invited to dine with his brother) Dilandau took his injured face to the infirmary, since he did not particularly trust Dalet's assertion that it would not need stitches. The doctor, however, agreed; all he did was tape the cut closed and apply a more professional-looking gauze pad.

'Come back for a fresh dressing tomorrow,' he said. 'It shouldn't take long to heal. In the meantime you must just keep it clean and protect it.'

Dilandau swallowed a cold lump of fear which was rising in his throat, trying to stop him asking the question, from some blind superstitious feeling that if the subject was not raised then what he dreaded could not occur. 'Am I going to have a scar?' he asked.

'Well, probably,' said the doctor, not unkindly, but as casually as if he spoke only of a minor inconvenience that no-one would mind much. 'Not a big one. A thin red line. It will get less noticeable, and probably fade in colour, as time goes by.' He was turning away from Dilandau as he spoke, putting away the unused cotton and gauze in their drawer, and he could not see the boy's face, but he heard a small choking sound. He turned back, a little concerned. His patient was sitting on the examination bed, chalk-faced and staring. Next to the snowy colour of the sterile dressing, his skin looked yellowish and unhealthy. Of course, he was strikingly pale to begin with; the doctor had been surprised to see an albino who didn't suffer from weak eyes, too. Those sharp red eyes were fixed on a point in the air ahead of them, not focused on the doctor or anything he could see in the room. They seemed to be seeing some private vision of dread. The boy's dry lips parted wordlessly, a shuddery exhalation escaping.

'Of course,' said the doctor, gently, 'after an injury like this it's not uncommon to experience some delayed shock. You're very fortunate not to have lost an eye. Perhaps it would do you good to lie down here and rest for a while, until you feel steadier.' He did not want to alarm Dilandau, but he thought a reaction like that should certainly be kept under observation. In his experience, these very young pilots could be quite highly-strung, and the more insidious effects of trauma on them should not be overlooked. He carefully put his hands to the boy's shoulders, left bare by his light undershirt, and guided him to lie down on the bed.

'Just relax. Nurse will bring you a cup of tea.'

'I - I shouldn't…' Dilandau muttered. 'The Dragonslayers…'

'They'll manage without you for a short time,' the doctor assured him. 'I only want you to rest this afternoon.'

'You can't tell me what to do,' Dilandau said, although he did not make any visible effort to rise from the pillow.

'Of course not. I'm only asking you.'

'All right then.' He gave in, just for the time being. The cut was aching again after the doctor's examination, and he felt so tense that his lunch was bubbling and threatening to rise from his stomach. The tea, brought by a nurse in soft, vague powder-blue, was hot, sweet and soothing, and unknown to him contained a mild sedative. He drank it in slow sips, looking at the blue of her uniform rather than raising his eyes and seeing the pity he was sure her face expressed. The colour somehow made him feel sleepy, and when he had put down the cup he decided to rest his eyes a little.

When he woke it was evening already, the lights were off and the examination room was deserted. Someone had covered him with a quilt as though they expected him to spend the night there. As he sat up the cold of the room struck him, and he hastily grabbed his thick leather jacket from the chair by the bed and pulled it on. Its weight was reassuring, protective. He sat for a long moment, eyes closed, contemplating the feeling of the soft lining, the familiar heaviness on his shoulders of the armour-plating. Dilandau loved his uniform every bit as much as its designer could have wished. It told the world not only what organisation he belonged to, but who he was, an immensely important person within that organisation, of course. It was cleaned and polished with a regularity and assiduity which actually threatened to make it wear out sooner than normal, just from the rubbing. He would have to make sure the soiled glove got special attention, or perhaps even that it was replaced.

At last he began to feel warm again, perhaps partly because he was becoming angry. He should not have been left alone like this, and he should not have been allowed to sleep so long. He slipped down from the bed and went to give the doctor a piece of his mind.

It was a measure of the man's professionalism that he insisted that before Dilandau left the infirmary he should put some ice on his bruised knuckles.

 

Dilandau dropped the ice-pack into a garbage chute on his way back to the dormitory. By now dinner would be over and the Dragonslayers should be engaged in silent study of one of Lord Dornkirk's texts assigned to them. That was one of his least favourite parts of the day, since he found reading of any kind very dull and the Emperor's writing style was no ball of fire either… but at least it would be restful and orderly. Besides, if he felt like it he could draw the velvet curtains around his bed, a luxury the other boys did not have, and no-one would be able to see if he was reading or not. _The privileges of rank_ , he thought, and smiled, although the smile faded very quickly as he felt the stiffness of the bandage when his face moved. The cut was not really hurting any more, but he could _feel_ it all the time nevertheless.

 _I'll feel better in the dorm_ , he told himself, and reached for the doorhandle. He stopped, puzzled, with his hand on the knob, as he heard what sounded very like a quiet laugh from within. Without supervision, they must be goofing off. There was nothing to laugh at in anything Dornkirk had written. He would have to crack down on them. The ice had been a good thing after all; he was ready for more.

He opened the door quietly, the better to catch them by surprise and frighten them. The boys on the beds nearest the door noticed him first, and a wave of startled, guilty silence ran ahead of him along the length of the room. They had turned it into an unofficial rest period, with extras. Someone had smuggled food and bottles in; Guimel was taking a drink at the moment he spotted his commander and choked very messily. No-one dared speak until Dilandau did. No-one dared warn anyone else.

Some beds were not being sat upon because Gatti's card-school was in operation again. The game was apparently so interesting that none of the circle of eagerly-bent heads surrounding his bed looked up at Dilandau's approach. He felt as though his stare should burn holes in them. There was Dalet's sleek brown bob, and Biore's wussy tendril-curls… and a head of glossy black hair, somewhere between spiky and floppy, which was suddenly thrown back as its owner laughed again.

It was a pleasant, light-hearted laugh, the same one he had heard from the corridor. 'All right, all right, you beat me fair and square. You're the best bluffer I ever saw, Migel,' Van said, shaking his head and smiling.

'Comes from learning to keep a straight face when he's in one of his moods,' said Migel, sounding half amused, half guilty. 'Sometimes I get so freaked I think I'm going to giggle, or something crazy like that.'

'You think I'm funny, Migel?' Dilandau said softly, right by Migel's ear. He had a special voice for these moments, one that was quiet but that cut straight into the hindbrain and paralysed with fear.

Migel's eyes widened as the colour drained out of his face. Every boy in the circle, as though dragged by puppet-strings, turned to look at Dilandau.

'N-no - I mean - I mean you frighten me - I mean…' Migel froze, aware that nothing he could say could possibly make it better and might very well make it ten times worse.

'What is _he_ doing here?' Dilandau asked. His voice was still utterly cold and controlled, but his fists were closed so tightly his fingers ached.

'He?'

'He means me,' said Van, casually, throwing down his cards. 'I guess we're not speaking.' He turned and smiled at Dilandau, and got up from his seat on the side of the bed.

'I'll speak to you,' Dilandau said, facing him in the central gangway. 'I'll tell you to get out.'

'But I was invited in.' Van hooked his thumbs in his belt and looked complacent.

'By whom!?'

'I don’t remember exactly. But I was certainly told I could come in, and I was certainly told I could join in the game, and it's not as though I've been a bad guest. I ordered the food for us. You're welcome to a share if you're peckish. Didn't you miss dinner? Where were you, anyway?'

'It is none of your business. You may think it's clever to come in here with bribes to try to make yourself popular, but I despise that sort of behaviour.' Dilandau's eyes flicked downward. 'What _is_ that you're wearing?'

'It's my dressing-gown.' It was a loose garment of dull-finished black silk with red embroidered dragons on the lapels. To Dilandau's own irritation he found himself coveting it.

'We have a uniform,' he said. 'Some of us are proud to wear it. Some are even _worthy_ to wear it.'

'Oh, for goodness' sake, I'm just wearing it over the shirt and pants,' Van said peevishly. 'Do you seriously think it matters to keep all that scrap-metal on right up until you go to bed? Don't you ever want to unclench a little and be comfortable?'

'I _am_ comfortable!'

'You don't look like it. You look distinctly flustered.' That superior smile again.

Dilandau struck him squarely across the face. Every one of the Dragonslayers winced in sympathy. Van's head was snapped over to one side with the force of the blow. For a moment he remained motionless in that position of recoil. Then he raised his head slowly, with an air of menace which chilled the onlookers. Dilandau was not intimidated. He was holding on to the frisson of power he had felt as he landed that slap. His heart gave a little trip-step, and for some reason he was breaking out in a tingling sweat.

'Thank you,' Van said, 'for giving me an excuse.' His left cheekbone was flushed angry red. Dilandau's lips twitched into a beatific smile at the sight. He thought he could actually see a tear glistening in the corner of Van's eye. Even if they were only watering from the sting, how glorious to have brought tears to those eyes.

He should have watched Van's hands, not his eyes. They shot out together as Van sprang forward, one flashing to the back of his head, one seizing his face. Van's fingers twisted and clenched in the longer locks of hair at the back of Dilandau's head and dragged it back, forcing the whole of his body into an awkward posture, knees bent and back tilted. The hand across his face… suddenly all he was aware of was that Van's thumb was right on the dressing, a layer of gauze away from the cut that had not even had a chance to scab over. A spike of nausea shot up in his stomach. Where had his advantage gone? Where was his power?

Van pulled down on his handful of hair, forcing Dilandau to sink lower and enabling the shorter boy to loom over the taller.

'Maybe,' he said, a touch breathlessly, 'I should have taken that as a compliment. That's the way you treat your friends, isn't it? I can't believe how they take it. And I can't believe how they talk about you. Talk about _popular_. This is the most twisted set-up I've ever seen, and the marvel is how you get away with it. Am I hurting you?'

'Van-sama, please…' Chesta started to say, but he was hushed by Biore. To interfere, even on Dilandau's behalf, would not earn them his favour. Already the sound of Van's name with the honorific attached was hurting Dilandau far more than the pull on his scalp. He could _not_ show pain. He could _not_ show weakness. That would complete his destruction in the eyes of his subordinates, wretched traitors though they were. He set his teeth, although his lips were awkwardly forced apart by the pressure of Van's fingers, and glared up at him with pure fury. _Stare him out… wait for an opening…_

'This _is_ a nasty cut,' Van said, and slowly dragged his thumb down the length of the dressing. The pressure was agonising. A wordless hiss escaped between Dilandau's teeth. He could not look away from Van's eyes, from the dilating darkness at their heart, black holes opening to swallow him up. The sweat had turned icy cold, and his shirt felt drenched with it. Far from its earlier excited acceleration, his heartbeat seemed to be slowing, as though whatever impulse made it pump was travelling more slowly, bogged down in a cold slush of fear. It was as though the life was being drawn out of him, like those horror stories you heard of the Deceptants, subhuman soul-vampires that could snuff out a person's existence and usurp his place in the world, stealing even his form and face… his face… his own face was reflected in Van's devouring eyes, and it looked so weak and white and crumpled that he did not want to own it.

'You sadistic bastard,' he managed to say. Even speaking his hatred did not break the spell that bound him.

'They say we hate our own qualities most in others,' said Van. The thumb came up for another stroke, a savage parody of a caress. Where it passed, redness seeped up through the soft white gauze. 'Just learn this, Dilandau. I told you last night but I guess it hasn't sunk in. You're obviously not very bright, but luckily I am very patient. I'll tell you as many times as necessary. You cannot treat me that way. You cannot treat me like one of them. And you should not be treating them that way either.' His breath was hot and humid on Dilandau's face. In this position, his legs were beginning to shake. He struggled to keep them rigid, but it was just not possible.

'Things are going to change, Dilandau,' Van said, 'and you'll find you have to change with them. So don't fight me, because I will only hurt you.' He grinned, tightened his grip until Dilandau felt his eyelids were being pulled back into slits, then let go altogether. Off balance, Dilandau fell and landed, with a bump, on his rear.

'How can you tell him not to abuse _us_ and treat _him_ that way?' Gatti flashed out angrily. 'You came mooching in here looking bored and lonely and we decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. Frankly, I'm sorry we did. We - look, we love Dilandau-sama, and if you're his enemy you're our enemy too.'

'You _love_ him?' Van repeated, incredulously. At his feet, Dilandau cringed at Gatti's embarrassing loyalty. _What a pathetic thing to say._ He put his hand over his eyes, trying to stop shaking before he attempted to contribute to the debate.

'What's to _love_?' Van was wondering aloud.

'I just - I mean - look, I didn't mean it to come out like that. It's just that… haven't you ever been truly grateful to someone? You knew that you owed everything good you had to them, to them giving you a chance? That's what Dilandau-sama means to all of us. I can't expect you to feel the same way, but you should be able to understand how _we_ feel, and respect it. Seriously, do you know the kind of thing I'm talking about?' Gatti was blushing rather, but clearly determined to make his point. 'I mean... I am speaking for all of us when I say that, aren't I, lads?' He looked around at the other boys, a little helplessly.

'Absolutely,' said Chesta firmly.

'That's how I've always felt, but I didn't know how to say it as well as you have,' added Guimel. There was a general round of nods and agreements.

The expression on Van's face was difficult to read. A sort of surface blankness seemed to be masking intense thought, as though what he had just heard had made a deep impression upon him but he was in two minds as to how to react to it. His brows drew together darkly, but whether this meant he was displeased or just thoughtful they were not sure.

'I do know what you mean,' he said slowly. 'It still doesn't seem right to me, but I know what you mean…' He looked down at Dilandau. 'That tells me how you get away with it, I suppose. Goodness knows how you did it in the first place, but they're yours… until the day they decide they don't want to be.'

'So… so maybe now we all understand each other,' Chesta said hopefully, 'we could get along better, and you and Dilandau-sama could be friends, Van-sa - Van?' He remembered himself and cast a guilty look at Dilandau. They had all slipped into saying Van-sama somehow, since he had sort of taken the lead over the course of the afternoon and evening. It sounded all wrong now that Dilandau-sama was here.

Van smiled, shaking his head gently. 'You really are a nice boy, Chesta. I wish I were one too, but I just can't make myself feel that way. For what it's worth, I'm sorry I upset you guys.'

Dilandau pushed himself to his feet. The Dragonslayers, who had come forward a little in the course of backing up Gatti, took half a step backwards and then tried to look as if they had not. He rose to his full height, his straightness of bearing emphasising that it was greater than Van's, and looked down at him bleakly.

'Leave now,' he said. 'I think even you must be satisfied by now. Just leave.'

Van looked him in the eye, and he forced himself to stare back without flinching, although by now being stared at by Van made him more uncomfortable than almost anything. He would _not_ drop his gaze first. Van's eyes were not openly hostile; they seemed to be searching him, analysing and criticising him; they seemed to see everything he kept hidden. _I only think that because I'm upset_ , he soothed himself. _He has no power over me._ He kept his face as dead as he possibly could, giving nothing away.

Van's eyes moved from Dilandau's own eyes to the crumpled dressing on his cheek, retracing the line his thumb had made down its surface. Perhaps there was a flicker of satisfaction in them before he turned away and walked to the door.

Dilandau did not turn or move until he heard the door click closed. When he heard that, he did not sag at the shoulders, he did not relax, but his level of tension seemed to move down one notch. Wordlessly, he walked over to his bed and tugged at the cord that drew the heavy crimson curtains across. For some reason, his fingers had difficulty in managing it. He stood looking at the cord in his hand, at the twisting strands of some slightly shiny fibre. It seemed to expand to fill his whole view. He almost did not want to move. They were whispering together on the other side of the room.

Someone stepped up behind him.

'Dilandau-sama?' said Chesta apprehensively. 'We're all sorry. We understand that you're angry, and we know you'll punish us. But we want you to know that none of us meant to betray you.' He fought the instincts that screamed at him to put his arms over his head and duck while he had time.

Nothing happened. Dilandau-sama still stood there, looking at the curtain cord as if it were the only real thing in his presence.

'Dilandau-sama?' quavered Guimel, coming up behind Chesta. 'Aren't you going to punish us?'

'I'm… too tired to think what to do to you right now,' Dilandau said. His voice was low and hollow. 'And it's not your place to hurry me. Wait till morning. I'll tell you then. In the meantime, put that crap away and go to bed. And everyone is to leave me completely alone.' He paused, twisting the cord. 'You all will anyway.'

No-one was sure what to say. In the past couple of days all the rules for understanding Dilandau-sama, uncertain as they had been, seemed to have gone out the window.

'No we won't,' said Guimel, who was not widely regarded as the most perceptive boy in the unit.

'People always leave me alone,' Dilandau said. He was not sure himself why he was saying it. It just seemed to him to be true. It must be the right way for things to be. 'I would like all of you to understand one thing quite clearly. We are not friends. I am your captain. I have observed a distinct tendency lately for you to forget that. Your admiration and respect are welcome. They're natural and proper. Don't allow your enthusiasm to lead you into the error of presuming upon our connection. I don't need friends like you.'

The silence behind him had a hot, hurt quality. Perhaps this was an even better way to punish them than the usual physical blows. It was true. He did not need such weak, foolish people. They were fit to serve him and nothing more. He did not even need these particular ones. There would always be people to serve someone like him. It was the natural order of things. Van simply had to be ignored as an aberration, a freak. That was the only way to deal with his existence. Seeing things this way was the only way to be able to carry on.

'All right, Dilandau-sama,' said Chesta quietly. 'We didn't know you felt that way. We regret having behaved so inappropriately. We'll all try to serve you better in future.'

Dilandau drew the curtains closed around his bed and stepped behind them. Sitting on top of the scarlet quilt, he could hear the subdued sounds of the boys tidying up and preparing for bed, not daring to talk among themselves except for strictly necessary communication. Slowly, mechanically, he undressed and laid his clothes on the lid of his foot-locker. Sometimes, self-indulgently, he slept naked, but it was a cold night and somehow he did not want that feeling of intimacy with himself anyway. He put on his pajamas and lay down in bed, flat and straight on his back, arms at his sides. He was not sure he would be able to get to sleep now, after that long nap in the infirmary. On the other hand, he felt too tired even to go to the washbasins to clean his teeth.

He moved his head on the pillow, seeking a comfortable position, and the movement put pressure on his cut. A twist of pain went through it, and hot tears welled in his eyes. They were strictly an involuntary reaction to physical discomfort. They kept running because the cut was still throbbing from Van's abuse. They scattered as he blinked, wetting his ears, rolling down beside his nose and making their way to the stretching corners of his mouth where he tasted the salt. These were purely tears of pain. He would not cry for rage, or humiliation, or grief. He was fine. He was strong.

Without quite realising it, he had crossed his arms over his chest, holding himself, hugging himself. After a time, with a strange chilly feeling of despair, he sought comfort in physical pleasure. It did not feel the same as it always had. The despair intensified and caught at him with dark claws as he realised that he was no longer the boy he had always loved. He was not perfect any more. Van had done that to him; he had diminished him in the eyes of others and even in his own estimation. However he stroked himself now, however he tried to induce the warm dream-state of arousal, the coldness was still there and satisfaction was impossible.

Eventually his hand stole up to his face and traced once again the path of pain and disfigurement. Warm salt water soaked the bandage and diluted the red stain. In the end, he later supposed, he must have slept.

He woke sometime in the very early hours of the morning, soaking with sweat and shivering violently. He had been having some kind of nightmare, a formless swirl of confusion and panic. His own skin stank to him. He sat up in bed, smoothing back his wet hair again and again, trying to feel calm. His empty stomach was twisting and roiling.

 _I need to pee. That'll probably be it. I'll just go to the toilet and then I'll feel better. I can take care of myself easily._ He slipped out through the curtains and padded across the sleeping dormitory to the locker-room. Using the lavatory did not make much difference to how he felt, only relieving a minor discomfort. He washed his hands and face, bathing his sweating forehead with cool water, closing his eyes against the bluish gas-light burning in the wall sconce. The adhesive on the gauze bandage gave up the ghost and it dropped off, slapping wetly into the washbasin, off-white against the porcelain. He looked up at himself in the big mirror and stared in horror. He looked so terrible, so exhausted and broken down. The cut was still not scabbing properly. A dribble of watery blood continued the curved line down over his wet cheek to the side of his chin. He swept it away with a damp hand and it returned. He wiped at it again and again, his efforts becoming a little hysterical. Nausea was rising and for some reason his back ached horribly. Suddenly he was so dizzy that he had to brace his arms on the washbasin rim and lean there helplessly until his head cleared a little.

 _I am not well. I am very, very ill. The blade of the sword was poisoned. Or his hand rubbed some virulent germ through the dressing. Or just his touch has made me sick. I'm contaminated. God, if I had keeled over just now and hit my head on the tiles I could have died. I could die!_ The possibility had never presented itself to him so directly before. He must go and tell the doctors instantly before things got worse. He must be helped. He waited until he felt sufficiently steady on his feet to let go of the washbasin. He did not want to wake any of the others. This was his business. He went out through the training hall and walked carefully through the dark passages, one hand against the wall just in case. Why did no sentries cross his path? Why did no-one notice that he was not all right? He was not sure he was going the right way. Everything looked different when it was so dark and his sense of balance was only intermittent. His head was far too hot and his feet were painfully cold.

He came to a door that he thought was in the right place, but it was too hard to read the sign in the dark. It might have said 'Infirmary.' There was a light shining in the cracks above and beneath it. He put his hands on the knob, but could not go on, arrested by a contraction of pain in his spine and another rising whirl of giddiness and nausea. He tried to fight it down, but it grabbed him and pulled him down into darkness with it.

Fortunately, the sliding thump of his body falling against the door alerted the nurse on night duty inside. Looking outside, she quickly called to a colleague to help her bring him in.

'He was here earlier today, wasn't he?' the second nurse said as they lifted him, unconscious but shuddering, onto a gurney. 'This is the pretty one all you girls have crushes on.'

'Don't be ridiculous,' the younger nurse said crossly, colouring a little. 'He's someone very important. It'll be terrible if he's seriously ill. I'll get him into bed and call Doctor Kalderemis. You'd better see that the Strategos is informed.'

 

Folken was replaying the footage of Van in the dormitory, as he had been doing for some hours, when the message came to him. As he rose to go to the infirmary and take matters in hand, he became aware of the stiffness of sitting still for so long. He glanced at the image on the screen, where he had frozen the display; Dilandau bent almost double and Van… Van torturing him, there was no other name for it. He had not expected this. He passed his good hand wearily over his face as he walked. If the situation escalated to the point where it was disruptive, he would have to account for what he had been doing. He did not look forward to that.

In the infirmary, another sorcerer had already arrived, dismissing Dr Kalderemis. He was one of the old guard who tended to resent Folken for having arrived from the sticks, learned everything they could teach him faster than anyone on record, and gone on to improve on their best work in directions they had never thought of. In a strange way, it struck them as ungrateful. He was observing the semi-conscious figure on the bed with a sort of gloomy satisfaction. Dilandau was in restraints to prevent him falling to the floor in his convulsions. These had been violent earlier, but now he was only trembling.

'Reversion,' the sorcerer said as Folken approached, not bothering with a greeting. 'We thought it might happen under stress. That's the trouble with altering the morphic field. For some reason, it's very difficult to do in the first place, but once it has been done it can happen again and again with increasing ease. The problem is that at some level his body knows another shape is possible, and thinks it might be safer than the one it's in. Here we are, fighting a war, it's too much for him and it's having the psychosomatic effect of using the previous morphic configuration as a sort of bolt-hole.'

'Dilandau was brought up for war,' Folken said. 'I don't think you can attribute the reversion simply to the stress of combat. He _likes_ fighting.' He bent forward to examine the way Dilandau's eyelids were flickering, and gently felt his forehead. No thermometer was necessary to determine that he was running a high temperature.

'Well then, why do _you_ think it's happening?' the sorcerer asked peevishly.

'Oh, I agree with your diagnosis of stress triggering the reversion. It's simply not combat stress. There's a… personal situation.'

'How can _he_ have a personal situation?' the sorcerer said. 'He's completely self-centred. All our analysis shows it. He doesn't appear to have proper relationships with anyone he knows.'

'Perhaps not _normal_ relationships,' Folken murmured, still intent on observing the twitching of the boy's facial muscles, 'but he's not made of stone. Besides, your last psychological assessment of the subject was four months ago. He's a growing boy.' He stepped back and looked at the intravenous drip bag hanging on its stand, one-third filled with a murky blue liquid. 'You're trying to stabilise him?'

'Well, obviously.' The sorcerer was indignant. He took off his pince-nez glasses and polished them on a cloth drawn from his sleeve.

'Don't,' said Folken. 'If you've given him that much already and he hasn't settled, I don't think he's going to tonight. It would be less traumatic overall to let him revert and recuperate a little before attempting to restore the Dilandau configuration.' He waited a moment before looking up at the other black-clad man. 'He _is_ my responsibility. So I assure you I take full responsibility for whatever happens if you follow my instructions.'

The sorcerer gave Folken a very hard look before replacing the spectacles on his nose. 'Just as well,' he said, and rang for a nurse to remove the drip from Dilandau's arm.

'He should be sedated and left to sleep until the physical distress subsides,' Folken said. He gently put a hand to Dilandau's cheek, tilting his head so that he could see the cut on his cheek better. It looked a little inflamed.

'I'll get a fresh dressing on that directly,' said the nurse, thinking he was pointing out what needed to be done.

'Don't bother,' said Folken. 'It will be unnecessary shortly. You'll be briefed on the special care this patient will require.' He was still looking at the swollen cut. 'Do you believe in serendipity?' he asked the other sorcerer.

'Unexpected good fortune? Things showing up by chance exactly when you need them? It's a nice plot device for a fairy-tale, but it doesn't happen in real life,' the older man said scornfully.

'Perhaps not…' Folken said thoughtfully. 'I think what's more likely is that opportunities present themselves all the time, but most people don't notice all of them. Those who appear to experience serendipity are in fact simply very good at recognising an opportunity. They're always thinking about how they can use everything that comes their way.'

'What are you going on about?' the sorcerer asked irritably. He was a practical medical magician who did not see any need for philosophical discussions in the middle of the night.

'Just that it's funny how an arising problem can turn into a possible solution for another problem,' Folken said, and turned to go.

 

When morning had fairly broken, the Dragonslayers, thoroughly alarmed to find their commander gone from his bed when they awoke, were informed by a messenger that he was on temporary sick leave and until his return Van Fanel would take over his duties. They were to go to breakfast as normal and continue with a regular training day, pending further notice.

'This is bad,' said Chesta. He stood in the gangway in his nightshirt chewing his lip. 'Do you think he left because of us? I mean, he was _really_ angry last night.'

'Don't just stand there thinking about it, get dressed,' said Dalet impatiently. He was feeling both panicky and guilty, thinking of how Dilandau's face had looked last night, and it was making him feel worse to hear Chesta whimpering. The thing to do now was to try to be efficient, to keep things going so well that when Dilandau-sama came back he would be proud of them. If he ever would be proud of them. The zip on his left boot stuck as he tried to pull it up and he painfully pinched his fingers fixing it.

'What worries me is this thing about Van Fanel,' said Migel soberly. 'I hate to say it, but do you think he's had Dilandau-sama put out of the way so he can take over? They hate each other so much… I don't understand why it's so _personal_ with them. We attacked his country too but he seems all right with us. _Why_ do they hate each other so?'

'Some people just _do_ ,' said Gatti. 'Comb your hair. You have bed head. We mustn't let our standards slip without him.'

'No matter _what_ happens,' Migel retorted, 'I hope I can remember to comb my hair in the morning. Seriously, do you think he might have? I don't understand him. Like I said, he's been decent to us, but with Dilandau-sama…'

'Dilandau-sama wouldn't _let_ him do a thing like that, would he?' asked Chesta, wringing his hands.

'Chesta,' everyone else shouted, 'get _dressed!_ '

'Maybe it's not a question of _letting_ ,' said Biore darkly, as Chesta scurried to get his clothes on. 'Maybe he couldn't stop him. Who knows what someone as violent as that might do? And he's got influence because he's the Strategos' brother. When you think about it, who does Dilandau-sama have to back him up except us? We all have families, but I've never heard him talk about any relatives or anything.'

'He's a private person,' Chesta said, zipping his pants. 'I expect he just didn't think it was appropriate to tell us personal things like that. You heard him last night. I think we've all been really annoying him for a long time, acting too chummy…'

'We do not act chummy,' said Gatti. 'He got on his high horse because he was embarrassed and angry and we let him down. And he hasn't got any family, because when we had our physicals last year the nurse left some files on the desk when she went to do something and I was curious so I looked. It said he hasn't got any known relatives at all.'

'That was pretty nosey of you,' said Dalet, disapprovingly.

'Well, he's so mysterious,' Gatti said, shrugging. 'I always wanted to know more about him. How much does any of us really know? Besides what you can just find out from being around him every day. He's the same age as the rest of us, but where's he from? Who are his people? What do they do?' He sighed. 'I suppose that sounds like I'm being a snob. I just wanted to know what sort of background produces, well, _Dilandau-sama_.'

'Aristocracy,' Biore suggested. 'Natural leaders.'

'Which would explain why he hates Van,' said Dalet briskly. 'Royalty are always scrapping. Half of them can't stand the sight of each other and the rest are married to each other's cousins. Or their own cousins.'

'I didn't know you were such a republican,' said Migel, sounding amused. He looked at the clock and sighed. 'We'd better get moving. Hand up anyone who's looking forward to this.'


	4. In the Garden

When Van went to have lunch with Folken (Folken seemed to want this to become a tradition) he was in the sort of mood he could only define as 'out of sorts with himself.' On the one hand, Dilandau seemed to have disappeared without trace in the night. No more stubborn opposition, no more hateful attitude, no more baleful staring, no more… when he got right down to it, it was hard to define exactly what he hated so much about the guy. Perhaps it was knowing that Dilandau hated him. Perhaps it was, very reasonably, what Dilandau had done in Fanelia, but for some reason, when he thought about that now it seemed faint and distant, as though it had receded behind more recent events that seemed more real to him. Perhaps that was his own mind protecting him from painful feelings. Fanelia, in his mind, was like faraway foothills, which you see through a blue haze of distance even on a clear day. Perhaps it was simply that he knew now that the present, and what he could do for the future, were more important than the past. When he tried too hard to think about these things, he became very confused, even to the point of developing a headache. He had to leave a lot of thoughts at the 'perhaps' stage and focus on that of which he could be certain.

Since he was certain he hated Dilandau, and wanted to defeat him, he should have felt happy about his disappearance, but certain things about it niggled at him. Firstly, that he just disappeared. Where had he gone? When? Why? Had he simply lost his nerve and bolted? Was he AWOL somewhere? Somehow the 'sick leave' explanation didn't ring true to Van, and yet he really hadn't thought Dilandau would be the type to walk away from their fight if he could help it. Secondly, that there had been no clear victory before he vanished. It wasn't a real win if his opponent had simply withdrawn from the game. Van had been looking forward to really breaking him.

Then there were the Dragonslayers. He had anticipated a certain amount of opposition from them to his leadership, but there was none. They were perfectly obedient to him and had said nothing at all about their precious Dilandau-sama. It was the _quality_ of their obedience that got to him. It was so much _on principle_. Of course, that was how it should be; they should obey their commander because he was their commander, not because they personally wanted to please him. But they _had_ wanted to please Dilandau. There had been no principle about it. Even if Gatti had tried to back down from saying they loved him, it was pretty clear that they had had a sort of massive collective hero-worship crush on him. It was ridiculous. Van could have liked them except that this weakness made them so easy to despise.

So the morning had been unsatisfying. Seeing Folken would probably make him feel better. Perhaps he could advise him, or perhaps, when asked nicely, he would provide the information that would make all this make sense. Van reached the door of Folken's quarters and tapped for entry.

Folken seemed unusually happy today. That was an observation that needed to be qualified quite a lot before it would be correctly understood by an outsider. By most people's standards he was still quite sombre, but Van had the impression that some pleasing thought kept recurring to his mind, although he was not, apparently, willing to share it at this stage. Lunch was excellent, so much better than the food the Dragonslayers were given that Van ate rather a lot in the hope of filling up and being less hungry for dinner.

'You eat as though you've been starved,' Folken commented. 'Three bowls of soup, and the steak and kidney pie is rapidly disappearing. I shall have to have you wormed.'

'Don't be disgusting,' Van protested. 'I've never had worms in my life.'

'Growing up alongside a cat? I'm a little surprised. They're transmitted so easily if you share food. It's a shame we can't have your little Merle here with us. She must miss you.'

Van paused with a forkful of pie halfway to his mouth. For a moment, he actually thought 'Merle who?' Then the memory shuffled into place and he was embarrassed at himself.

'Oh,' he said, a little vaguely. 'Yes. Poor Merle… But I'm sure someone is taking care of her.' He paused and thought again. 'Hitomi would take care of her.' He went back to the steady demolition of the steak and kidney pie.

'That will be a comfort to her,' Folken said. 'To both of them. It's strange how comforting it can be to take care of someone else. When you have to be strong for them, sometimes it gets easier to be strong in all ways. And being gentle in strength helps us to avoid becoming hard. At some stage I must introduce you to my wards Nariya and Eriya. I feel sure you would like them very much. Just now they're on a training mission, and won't be back for several days. I take a certain pride in those girls. I flatter myself that I've been the making of them.'

Van nodded politely, but somewhat to Folken's concern, did not seem very interested. It was fascinating how quickly he had apparently stopped thinking of Merle. He _could_ remember her, of course, but unless prompted he would not consciously do so. Folken was fairly sure that he should not be able to remember the events immediately before his capture at all. He was half-tempted to drop some hints to see if Van could recall Castel Fort, or the name Allen Schezar, but it seemed too risky. Van might surprise him; he could trigger a breakdown in the memory suppression. Merle was a memory dating from childhood and therefore relatively safe to invoke.

'Like you've been the making of me,' Van said, unexpectedly, derailing Folken's train of thought.

'Hmm?'

'Brother, you know I owe you everything.' Van spoke quite earnestly. This was not a suggestion Folken had intentionally implanted. Van seemed somehow to have come up with it by himself, and now believed it implicitly. Folken would have tried to challenge it, except that, once more, making Van question any of his new foundation beliefs might have undermined all of them. Folken found it faintly embarrassing to think that people might get the idea he had done it on purpose.

'You take care of a lot of people, it seems,' Van went on. 'I think it shows the kind of heart you have. I want you to know that I think… well, what's done is done, but I think you could have been a better King than me.' Again, he spoke without evident irony. Folken felt another twinge of guilt at letting him believe such a piece of nonsense, which he suppressed with some exasperation. Outwardly, he smiled slightly and shook his head.

'If that's how you feel,' he said, 'perhaps you would be prepared to do me a small favour.'

'Of course. What did you have in mind?'

'It can wait until you've finished eating. Assuming you ever will finish eating. Please don't shame me by getting fat.'

'As if I would,' Van said, well aware that his brother was only teasing. 'I don't think there's ever been a fat Fanel. Skinniness runs in the family. I just hope I grow up and fill out as well as you have. Did it happen _long_ after you were my age? You were already taller, weren't you?' He looked a little concerned at the thought of being short and thin forever, and helped himself to more steamed rice as a preventative.

'There's nothing wrong with you as you are,' Folken said. 'Don't worry. Your genes won't let you down.'

'My what?'

'I’ll lend you a book that explains it.'

'Will I have much time for reading?' Van looked thoughtful as he polished off the rice. 'I mean, you'll want me to go into battle soon, won't you? I'm surely not just meant to cool my heels with the Dragonslayers. They're combat ready and I think I am too.'

'That will depend on how things go in Freid,' said Folken, 'and on what arrangement we come to with Asturia. A peaceful resolution is possible. That's what I hope for. The goal, after all, is not to escalate war but to end it.'

'Oh,' said Van, looking a little dismayed. 'But then I can't be any help to you. I'll feel really ungrateful and useless not doing anything to pay you back.' He laid down his knife and fork and stared gloomily at his plate.

'You can do me that favour I mentioned. Are you ready now? Don't look so disappointed… there wasn't going to be pudding anyway.'

 

They walked along corridors Van had not been in before. Folken was not someone who made conversation while he walked with you, and he did not seem to feel it was necessary to explain where they were going before they got there. Van contented himself with keeping alert, remembering the way, noting the details of his surroundings. There were no clues as to what lay at the end of the journey, but he had the impression that they were moving upward, and towards the core of the floating fortress.

Finally Folken stopped at a tall door of frosted glass.

'I want you to follow me in quietly,' he said. 'Avoid making sudden movements, and wait until I indicate that you should speak. All right?'

'All right,' said Van, wondering why it had to be so mysterious.

'Come in, then,' Folken said, operating a combination lock and sliding the door open.

Van stepped through behind him and caught his breath. This was the last thing he would have expected to find at the heart of a fortress. It was a garden, canopied with glass through which he saw the thin blue sky above and around the floating stone hulk. Perhaps because of the sun coming through that greenhouse roof, or perhaps because of some kind of heating and humidifying system, the air was warm, moist and balmy here, in striking contrast to the sterile chill of most rooms on the _Vione_. This felt like a place apart from changing seasons. Here it was permanently the most verdant, caressing phase of Spring. The ground was covered by thick, softly shining grass liberally sprinkled with clover and other small wildflowers. A soft, shifting hum denoted the droning presence of honeybees. There were young trees around the perimeter of the garden chamber, but most of the greenery was low-growing, lovely scented bushes and beds of flowers you wanted to lie down and sleep in forever. Van's clothes felt too heavy and his feet felt imprisoned in their thick socks and hard boots. This was a place to walk barefoot. He had a sudden surprising vision of himself and his brother as if from outside, and was struck by what sinister, alien things they appeared in the midst of this soft beauty. Folken was like a piece of midwinter night that had strayed into the daytime, and he, Van, reminded himself of a large black and red insect with a shining carapace. They were sputtering inkblots on soft pink tissue-paper. They seemed so artificial… and yet this whole garden was as much the product of artifice and technology as the tiny screws in Folken's metal arm and the zips and hooks in Van's clothing.

'Do you like this?' Folken murmured. Mindful of the injunction not to speak, and in any case dumbfounded by his surroundings, Van just nodded.

'Follow me,' Folken said, and led the way across the grassy space at the centre of the garden. This was landscaped into the form of a gently dipping little dell. In this depression the grass grew more lushly, tall enough to brush the brothers' ankles as they walked. It partly obscured the form that lay on the ground, but as they drew nearer Van clearly saw it was a person dressed in teal-blue - a girl dressed in teal-blue, lying curled on her side and gazing with minute concentration at a ladybug working its way along her index finger.

Folken stopped when they still stood a little way off, and said quietly 'Hello. We've come to visit you.'

The girl slowly rolled into a half-sitting position, propped on her elbow, and looked up at them with wide milky-blue eyes. There was something newborn about those eyes, something both innocent and uncomprehending. They were very lovely eyes, too. Van had not met many girls this pretty and he found himself feeling shy on many levels; because she _was_ pretty, because he had just been thinking of himself as something rather ugly, because seeing her lying there like that made him feel oddly as though he had walked into her bedroom. She had very fair, fine-looking skin and ash-blonde hair shot through with silver. The silver threads suggested elderliness, but he had never seen such a young-looking face on anyone his own age. He thought she must be his age. For some reason, he wanted her to be.

Folken, moving very gradually and deliberately, sank down to crouch on his heels and look the girl in the eye. It was the first time Van had seen him make a concession to being taller than most people.

'Do you remember how I came to see you this morning?' he asked. His voice had acquired a softness that was new to Van, too - new until he remembered hearing it as a child. This was Folken's to-a-baby voice. He never used foolish-sounding 'baby talk' but he did have a special tone reserved for the very young. Hearing it again made Van wish he were still small enough to be hugged and petted.

The girl frowned as though remembering this morning took quite a lot of effort. Then her face cleared and brightened with a radiance that made Van blink. 'Yes,' she said. That appeared to be all.

'This afternoon,' Folken went on, 'I've brought someone with me. It's my little brother, Van. That's him behind me. Van, will you come here and say hello?'

Van knelt down beside Folken. He supposed that was his cue to speak. 'Hello,' he said, and heard his voice croak slightly. 'I mean, hello,' he tried again, a little more smoothly.

'Van, this is Celena,' Folken went on, continuing to use that gentle voice, and his eyes were still on the girl. 'She's lost her memory and her family. We are taking care of her here, but I think it's rather lonely for her. I thought you two might make good friends. Would you be willing to stay here for a while and talk with her?'

'Y-es,' said Van, hesitantly, 'but what about my duties?'

'You won't miss anything important. And I would be very grateful to you if you'd do this thing for me. I can't stay with her, you see, and she needs companionship. I'm attempting to locate someone I believe to have been her former guardian, but until then… if you would be so kind?'

'Of course,' Van said hastily. He had not meant to appear reluctant to do as Folken wished. 'I just didn't want to let you down about the other stuff.'

Folken turned to him and spoke more quietly, but in his normal tone. 'Celena's amnesia is quite severe. She has forgotten a great deal of things that you might consider common sense. You will need to be patient with her. What I particularly want you to do is to try to get her to have normal conversations, to engage with another person in a manner appropriate for her age. It may take a while, and you shouldn't expect success on the first day, but I think I can rely on you to do it.'

'I hope you can _always_ rely on me, brother,' Van said. He did not quite understand Folken's confidence, since he had never thought of conversation as his strong point, but he would do his best. It was not at all the sort of assignment he had expected, but really, how hard could it be?

'Good,' said Folken, and rose to his feet. 'I'll leave you together, then. I'll call for you later, Van. If you need anything there is an intercom by the door. The door is self-locking for security, but the guards in this sector can let you out if necessary.' He nodded to the girl. 'I'll see you later, Celena,' he said, his voice softening again. 'Be a good girl for Van.'

'Bye,' said Celena. She watched Folken walking away for a moment, but then she was distracted by the tickle of the ladybug's feet on her finger and turned back to watch it. Van watched her uncertainly. What was a good way to open a conversation? Perhaps he should just pick on something in their surroundings and make a comment.

'Are you going to make a wish?' he asked her. She looked up at him in puzzlement.

'On the ladybird,' he explained. 'You need to make a wish before it flies away.' She still did not respond, but she looked interested. 'When you've made your wish and you want it to go, there's some rhyme you're supposed to say… ladybug, ladybug, fly away home… but you need to think of a wish first.' This seemed like a promising topic, something he could remember discussing before. 'If you could have three wishes, what would they be?'

'I… don't know,' she said. She had a pretty little voice, quite low for a girl. She seemed to have a slight, lilting Asturian accent, setting her apart from the flat vowels of Zaibach speakers and the soft Fanelian burr that Van noticed more in his own voice since he had been here. Folken had almost lost it, but he still did not sound exactly as though he was from Zaibach.

'Well, would you wish to be rich? A lot of people would.'

Celena shrugged. He seemed to be losing her to the bug.

'What would I wish for?' Van wondered aloud. 'Well… I would use the first wish for my brother. I would wish for his plans to work out right, for him to be happy. Second… I think I'd wish for the people of Fanelia to be happy. Fanelia's my country, you know. Once I've finished helping Folken I suppose I'll go back there and start again. It'll depend on what he wants me to do. Third… I don't know. I think I'd wish not to have wings.'

Celena's face clouded again. 'That's backwards,' she said. 'You mean you'd wish _to have_ wings.' That was the longest sentence she'd spoken so far. She seemed to be waking up.

'No I wouldn't,' he said. 'I've got them and don't want them.'

'Where?' she asked, looking curiously at his shoulders.

'They're put away right now,' he said. 'I don't like people to see them.'

Suddenly Celena laughed. 'You're tricking,' she said. 'You're silly.'

'No, honestly,' he protested, rather pleased, 'my brother has them too. Big wings with soft black feathers.' A little self-consciously, he unhooked his collar and reached inside to draw up the thin cord around his neck. He had picked this up from the floor without Folken noticing and he was not sure it would please him. 'This is my brother's.' He showed her the black feather, its down somewhat the worse for wear. She bent close to stare at it between his fingers and thumb. Acting on an impulse, he used it to tickle her nose. She started back with an exclamation of surprise, then began to laugh again.

 _I_ am _doing well_ , Van thought. _She seems to really like me. I don't think it can be as bad as Folken thought, she talks quite sensibly. She's just a little vague._

However, the trick with the feather seemed to distract Celena for only a few moments before her laughter faded and she returned to her observation of the creeping ladybug. It had trundled all the way to the tip of her finger and was hesitating near the nail, as if weighing up its options.

'Isn't that a pretty little beetle,' Van said gamely. 'Are you fond of insects?'

She only stared harder at the little red-and-black dome. Then, before Van fully understood what she was doing, she opened her mouth and popped her finger inside, ladybug and all. The finger reappeared, wet and without its passenger.

'I didn't mean to eat!' Van exclaimed. 'Celena, spit that out, you're not supposed to _do_ that!' He was fairly sure ladybugs were poisonous; wasn't that what bright coloration was supposed to mean in nature? In some alarm, he forced her mouth open with his fingers. Looking surprised at his objection, she stuck out her tongue. On its pink tip rested the ladybug, very damp and astonished but apparently unharmed. Van flicked it away to land in the grass. That left him holding Celena's chin, which laid him bare to embarrassment on previously undreamt-of levels. He was being much too familiar. He quickly took his hand away and she closed her mouth, wetting her lips nervously as she did so.

'Are you cross?' she asked in a small voice.

'No,' he said, flustered. 'No, not at all, I was only worried, because you could make yourself sick just eating anything you found like that.' He looked around at the garden. 'There are insects here, aren't there? I suppose you couldn't have a garden _without_ insects… wait a moment.' He went over to a likely-looking bush and ferreted about in the earth at its base for a minute. The ground underneath was covered by wood chippings, gently decomposing to enrich the earth, and when he turned over a large piece he found what he was looking for. He returned to Celena with six fat white grubs wriggling in the palm of his gloved hand.

' _These_ are all right to eat,' he told her. 'They have a nice nutty flavour. They're better toasted, but they're perfectly good raw. Three for you and three for me. Here, try one.' She looked apprehensively at the larva coiling round upon itself as he offered it to her. 'I can pinch the heads off yours if you want. They stop wriggling that way.'

'No thank you,' said Celena, accepting the grub. She looked at it for a moment more before putting it in her mouth whole and beginning to chew with a preoccupied expression on her face.

'That's quite good, isn't it?' Van asked, watching her closely.

'Itsh rubbery,' she said.

'That's why they're better cooked… cooking softens them… but not bad, right?' He took one for himself.

Celena swallowed and looked pleased with herself. 'Can I have another?'

'Go ahead. You can have mine too. I just had lunch so I'm not that hungry.'

She opened her mouth like a baby bird and waited to be fed in the same way. Van co-operated, although he wondered if this was quite what Folken had had in mind when he spoke of companionship. Still, sharing food was as good a way of making friends as any he knew. It had worked pretty well with the Dragonslayers, until Dilandau had come in bitching. They, however, had seemed fairly sophisticated, and might have objected to him putting grubs in their mouths. Some people seemed to find the idea of insect food distasteful, although Celena, swallowing the last grub now, obviously had no such problem.

'Thank you!' she chirped, reminding him again of a bird.

'My pleasure,' he said. It had been odd to think of Dilandau in this place, if only for a moment. He seemed so far away and unimportant. Van realised that since he had been in Celena's company, he had not really felt worried about anything. The out-of-sorts feeling had melted off. He felt almost like a different person. It really was pleasant to take care of someone, Folken was quite right. He had forgotten what it was like. Celena was certainly very different to anyone Van had looked after before, but he thought he could get the measure of her. All right, so she had no common sense. She had forgotten all sorts of little things. He could _teach_ her all sorts of little things. Once he started filling up her mind with interesting thoughts and facts, probably that would encourage the rest of what she knew to start coming back by itself.

'Celena,' he said, holding up a clover blossom, 'do you know the name of this flower?'

She shook her head.

'It's clover. Bees make very sweet honey from clover, but you mustn't let cattle eat it because it gives them bloat. And if you find a four-leafed clover, you should keep it because it'll bring you luck.'

'Clover,' she repeated, taking the pink and white flower from his hand and looking at it carefully. 'Not to eat, right?'

'No,' he said, smiling, 'you're quite right. And this one? Do you know its name?'

She frowned. 'Dai… daisy?'

'That's right! Good girl. That name means "the day's eye," because daisies open up like eyes when the sun rises and close again when it sets. Put it with the clover.' She dropped both flowers in her lap.

'Now how about this one?' Van went on. 'It shouldn't really be here, it's a weed. The name is…?'

For a moment it looked as though Celena knew the answer, but then her face fell and she shook her head.

'That's all right, it's a long one, it's hard to remember. Dandelion. From the old words _dent-de-lion_ \- lion's tooth. See how the shape of the leaves is jagged, like an animal's jaws? And you _can_ eat those. Have a dandelion salad to finish off your lunch. This is a young dandelion - see the yellow petals? Old dandelions turn white and fluffy, and they're another thing you can make wishes on. I'll teach you how if we find one.'

'Can lots of things make wishes for you?' Celena asked eagerly. Van paused, thinking about it.

'Well, I can't promise you that the wishes ever come true. But it's fun to pretend that they might. You never know your luck. There are all sorts of things that let you make a wish… ladybugs, shooting stars, thistledown, a penny in a well… some people say wishes really are magic. I don't know. I've made a lot of wishes in my life that never came true.'

'Maybe you didn't make them right,' Celena suggested. 'Are there rules?'

'Of course there are. There are always rules with magic. Usually you have to keep the wish a secret, or it definitely won't come true. Sometimes you have to close your eyes. Sometimes you have to blow something away… you do that with dandelion fluff, and… well, look, I can give you an example. You have an eyelash on your cheek. Hold very still so I can get it off for you.' He carefully removed the stray eyelash from just below her right eye. She had such dark eyelashes for a fair-haired girl; they were long, thick and gave a dreaming look to her face.

'Now,' he said, holding up his finger with the eyelash on the tip, 'you must think of your wish - don't tell me, or it won't come true - and then blow the eyelash away.'

Celena closed her eyes, thinking. The slight frown that crinkled her forehead cleared away and her lips smiled slightly. Still with her eyes closed, she took a breath and gently blew through pursed lips. The eyelash spun away on the air and was forgotten. Van was transfixed by the face before him, by the way those dark lashes rested on Celena's fair cheeks, and by the pale-pink rosebud that was her mouth. He leaned forward and kissed her before he had time to think about it. He was rather shocked by himself.

Celena's eyes opened as he drew back from the kiss, the lids beating rapidly as butterfly wings in a flutter of confusion.

'That wasn't my wish,' she said, 'but I wish it had been!'

'Oh?' he said, blushing and blinking rather a lot himself. 'What was your wish?'

'For you to come back tomorrow. Oh no! Now it won't come true!' Her face crumpled in dismay.

'No… no, it will. Don't worry, Celena. I've got the power to grant that wish and I promise you I will.'

'I didn't know people could grant wishes,' she said, enchanted by the idea.

'I think according to some old superstition I've got the power to heal scrofula or something at a touch, so I don't see why I shouldn't be able to grant the occasional small wish,' Van gabbled. He was talking nonsense, he thought, but he had surprised himself so much with that kiss that he was quite flustered and could not pull himself together. What if she expected another one? He was far too nervous now to manage it. That was the worst of it, these days - all his feelings seemed to be so close to the surface. He kept acting before he had time to think, and got carried away so easily. He needed a distraction or he was going to go completely to pieces.

'The, er, the flowers,' he said quickly. 'Why don't we see how many different kinds we can find. One of each? We'll make a collection, and see how many we know between us.'

Celena looked at him wonderingly for a moment, but then seemed to accept the change of tack, always so easily distracted. 'All right,' she said contentedly, and turned to comb through the velvety grass for unknown blooms. 'Buttercup!' she exclaimed, with evident satisfaction. 'I know about this! Let me see if you like butter.'

 _She_ is _remembering things_ , Van thought. It was nice to have his theory proven, but his heart was still pounding. Celena's hand under his chin would not help that at all. 'Not right now,' he said. 'Let's collect some more first. Oh look, I think this is a wild pansy. That's from the old word _pensée_ , thought. If you give someone pansies you're saying "think of me".' He felt like a prize idiot. He hadn't felt at such a disadvantage since… he couldn't remember.

 _If Dilandau could see me_ , he thought, _crawling on my hands and knees to pick weeds for a girl I haven't got the nerve to kiss twice, and babbling out the stories about flowers my mother used to tell me, my God, how he'd laugh._


	5. Talking, Thinking, Avoiding Action

The nurse looked up from her paperwork. 'Yes, sir?' she said politely.

'Um, I was wondering,' said Chesta, blushing nervously, 'is Dilandau Albatou allowed visitors, miss? He's been off sick for days and I thought maybe he might be feeling better by now.' They had all agreed they wouldn't pester him, but it was getting close to a week now and Chesta had stolen away, just to find out, he told himself. Even Dilandau-sama might feel lonely being sick all by himself. Perhaps they could send him some fruit or flowers.

'I'm afraid Mr Albatou is no longer in the infirmary,' the nurse said slowly, as though she were trying to remember a rehearsed line.

'Has he been discharged?' Chesta asked, his face lighting up with hope. Perhaps he was better already! Perhaps he would be in the dorm tonight and things would get back to normal.

'I believe he was moved to a specialist facility,' she told him. 'I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to tell you anything else because of our patient confidentiality rules.'

'Oh,' said Chesta, crestfallen. 'Oh. Well, thank you. Did - did he leave any message, or anything like that?'

The nurse felt rather sorry for this pretty, moon-faced boy. Chesta had a way of making people want to help him, without ever quite meaning to. It seemed unkind to tell him, but perhaps it was better for him to know the truth. Bending the rules a little bit couldn't hurt.

'No, dear,' she said sympathetically. 'He wasn't in any condition to do so. I'm sorry to tell you that your friend was really very sick. I don't know any more than that. Perhaps you should ask the Strategos. I believe he took charge of the case.'

'Oh,' said Chesta, turning paler. 'Oh, no, I don't think I'll bother _him_.' After he had talked back to Folken-sama on that fateful last day he had gone around feeling as though there was a sword hanging over his head, and he had only just begun to relax and think there might be no punishment.

Outside in the corridor, he leaned back against the wall and sighed gustily, blowing his bangs upwards. Chesta was by nature an optimist. He liked to think the best of people and situations, and put a lot of energy into making excuses for others. He knew perfectly well that Dilandau-sama was only so hard on him because he _deserved_ it. He was very grateful to him for caring enough to provide so much correction. It made him feel rather distrustful of Van… sama, he added guiltily in his mind, whose style as a commander was so different. He didn't slap anyone, he didn't shout. He kept doing unnerving things like complimenting you on your work, and it didn't even sound like sarcasm. Chesta always suspected he was winding them all up and laughing secretly. Being suspicious of someone was a rather new feeling for him, but it seemed only loyal to Dilandau-sama.

The other very strange thing about Van-sama was how he disappeared for a couple of hours every afternoon. They knew he went to lunch with his brother, but it couldn't take that long. He never talked about whether he went. Sometimes he came back very cheerful, sometimes looking preoccupied. Dalet noticed on the second day, and after that they had all observed, that when he returned there were fragments of crushed grass on his boots. Once he had come in with a daisy caught in the back of his collar, apparently unaware of it, and it had stayed there tauntingly all evening. Since he still slept in his own room, and Dilandau's curtained bed still stood empty, they never got to see if he discovered it when undressing, or how he behaved if he did. No-one liked to ask where he went. You didn't go asking nosey questions of the Strategos' brother.

Every day was full of mystery, Chesta reflected sadly. All the beloved certainties of his life were coming untied. If only Dilandau-sama were back, things might not be normal again, but they would feel better just because he was there. And now… he wasn't just sick, he was 'really very sick' and under the care of specialists. Chesta shivered a little at the thought. He would have to tell the others as soon as Van-sama had gone to bed and they were alone. There would be nothing any of them could do, but he did not want to be alone with this frightening knowledge any longer than necessary.

 

It was a strange week for Van. It was such an abrupt shift to make, from the enlivening, angry high he'd been riding when he had Dilandau to hate, to this weird dreamy existence with Celena. He was not about to deny that he liked her very much, and that trying to help her struck him as entirely worthwhile. His feelings about her, however, kept throwing him off balance. It was like trying to keep his footing while fording a fast-running river, and just to make matters worse every now and again the river started flowing the opposite way. Or the water boiled.

When he met Folken for lunch the second day, he was full of questions that he had not had time to think out yesterday. There had not really been time to talk then, anyway, as Folken was on his way to do something else, and Van had hurried back to run the Dragonslayers through some guymelef drills.

'Will you go to see Celena after this?' Folken asked, pouring wine for both of them. Van fiddled with the stem of his glass.

'Yes,' he said, 'I promised her I would.'

'You managed to get her talking, then? I have not had much success.'

'We talked quite a lot.'

'I'm impressed.' Folken smiled slightly.

'Brother…'

'Yes?'

'What can you tell me about her? She's so mysterious. She sounds as though she's from Asturia. Do you know who her family are at all? Or that guardian you were talking about?'

'I'm afraid I can't tell you a thing besides what Celena knows herself,' Folken replied, shaking his head. 'Which is almost nothing. The guardian, I should say, is really only a guess. She remembers that someone called Jajuka used to take care of her. Now, Jajuka is a dog's name, and a more common one in Zaibach than anywhere else. Since all dogmen born in Zaibach are required to be registered, it's relatively simple to locate any one Jajuka who may have taken care of a young girl at some time in the past. My people are making enquiries.' He took a sip of wine and rolled it in his mouth. It was a rather young white wine, and he was not sure he liked it; too sharp.

Perhaps the sour taste in his mouth was symptomatic of the distaste he felt at telling Van another lie, a lie put together out of pieces of truth. If he had not really known exactly who Jajuka was, and where he was now posted, it would have been the truth; that was precisely what he would have done to find out. There was, of course, no hurry to bring Jajuka to the _Vione_. He thought Van would do very nicely as a companion for Celena just now, but it was more plausible to say that efforts were being made to find her connections.

 _How are you going to wind this all up?_ an unpleasantly persistent voice at the back of his mind was asking. _At what stage do you stop the lies and the drugs? At what stage do you believe it will be safe to tell him the truth, without him being disgusted and leaving you?_

 _When the whole plan has come to fruition, when our destiny is fulfilled… surely then I can be honest with him without ruining it all. The deception, the control, will only be necessary for a little while longer. This campaign should be over before the end of summer. And all of this little rigmarole, this private pet project of mine, is to make him happy. He would be grateful if he knew. That is, if he really_ understood. _All I want is to make things right. This is the Way. If I can only serve this great design, and bring it to fruition, I can transcend my failure and redeem myself, yet that's not the most important thing… it's for them, for Van, for Nariya and Eriya. I may even have a shot at redeeming Dilandau and giving him happiness. I don't_ want _to sacrifice anyone._

 _But you would. If it was necessary for the plan, you would, wouldn't you?_

It was an inner dialogue that had been going on for days and nights. Mostly nights, when it was so quiet, and he was so very alone in his narrow bed.

 _Of course I would. I would sacrifice myself with a good will. None of us individually is as important as the plan. But sacrifice may not be necessary in every case. I don't waste lives. I weigh every decision so carefully. It's never easy for me. Those who died had to die. If they understood they would be grateful. But you can't tell people a truth like this… they simply don't understand… it's my burden and my gift to be the one who sees it, and who has to make the decisions because of that… do you imagine I get pleasure from this?_

 _You do get pleasure from seeing your brother here, from having him under your wing and looking up to you. From making little arrangements for him, giving him jobs, even matchmaking for him… don't delude yourself that you aren't playing happy families on some level. You're always trying to put together families, from the oddest waifs and strays. You let it distract you from what you're really doing._

 _You are nothing but the voice of my self-doubt, and I have too much good sense to attend to you._

He drowned the nagging voice with another sip of wine, and reminded Van, as a concerned brother should, that he had to take his pills with meals.

 

'Can you remember ever going to school?' Van asked.

Celena shook her head no.

'Do you know if anyone ever taught you to read?'

She shook her head again, and the daisy-chain she was wearing slipped down over her nose, making her laugh. He had made it for her before trying to do anything more constructive. Of course, to use his thumbnails to slit the stalks he had to take his gloves off, and that meant taking off his jacket altogether. It was much more comfortable to sit in the sunny garden with only his light undershirt on his back. The jacket lay on the grass like a shed skin, along with his boots and shinguards. He had taken off his socks, too, and buried his feet in the cool green grass. This made Celena determined to take off her boots too. She kept giving him little kicks and nudges with her bare feet; she was very bad at sitting still today. Van reminded himself to be patient. He had spent quite a long time preparing materials last night during silent study, and he just needed to get her mind on the task.

He held up the first slip of card.

'Can you read me this word?' She frowned at it dutifully, but ended up shrugging.

'Won't you talk to me today?' he asked plaintively, trying to draw her out with an exaggerated voice. She gave him a teasing sort of smile.

'Come on, Celena… don't be silly. You spoke beautifully yesterday. I enjoyed talking with you. Let's try something else, not reading.' He turned over some cards and held up another. 'What's the name of this shape?'

'I liked flowers better,' she sighed.

'Come on. Please. Humour me. If we only ever talk about flowers you won't remember anything else. Do you know this one?'

She looked a little disgruntled. 'Triangle,' she said.

'Excellent. You _do_ know. The more you try to remember, the more I'm sure your memory will come back. These are just to prompt you and get it started. What's this one?'

'Circle,' she said. 'But when I guessed a flower right you gave it to me. I don't want a boring shape card.'

'Then I'll give you a flower for each one you get right.'

'You could give me kisses. I liked the kiss yesterday.'

'I - I don't think that would be a very good idea,' he said. 'Not the best way for you to learn, I mean. I think it would be a distraction, and - and anyway I shouldn't be doing that kind of thing when your parents don't know,' he finished with a burst of half-desperate inspiration. 'It would be underhanded. Not honourable.'

'Does it really matter if they don't know, if _I_ don't mind?' she asked, dismayed.

'Yes,' he said, 'that sort of thing can be extremely important to parents. They can get very agitated if they think anyone might be taking advantage of their daughters. Once my brother has tracked them down I don't think they'd be very pleased to know I'd been messing around with you that way when I was supposed to be helping you get your memory back.'

She sighed but seemed to accept this rationale. 'I wish I could remember my parents. All I can remember is two names, and one of them's mine. You're lucky to have a real family.'

'But I haven't - I mean, there's only me and my brother now. He's all the family I have.'

'Really?' She looked at him curiously. 'What happened to your father and mother?'

'It's a long story.' He waved a hand self-deprecatingly. He hadn't meant to get into all this, but somehow it was easy to tell her things. There was something about the way she looked at him, a sort of waiting emptiness that he wanted to fill up.

'I'd rather hear a long story than guess shapes. Please tell me all about them. Is it a sad story?'

'Yes… it has a rather pretty beginning, though. You might not like it when you know it. It's about why I have wings, too.'

'I still don't believe you about the wings,' she said, smiling, 'because today I can _see_ your back and I know there's nothing on it. But if you'd like to tell me a fairy-tale you can.'

'All right,' he said, thoughtfully. 'A fairy-tale. Once upon a time, in a small kingdom called Fanelia, there ruled a good king named Goau, who was no longer young.'

'What did he look like?' Celena was settling herself on her side in the grass, knees drawn up and hands curled under her chin.

'Imagine my brother with black hair like mine, and a moustache,' said Van, trying hard to remember clearly. 'And a bit older, when the story starts.'

'Was he a kind king?'

'Of course.'

'And a brave king?'

'Absolutely.'

'Did he wear a crown?'

'No, but he had an ancient sword.' He pointed over at the jumble of armour. 'And that very same sword is lying there in this garden. The kings of Fanelia have always been warriors, dedicated to the protection of the common people. Let me tell you of a night when King Goau - who was not yet my father - was on his way home from such a campaign.'

Telling her stories worked well. It distracted her from the thoughts he wanted to avoid, although when he was pouring out words to that rapt face and she accepted everything he told her with such eager belief, it was difficult to avoid them himself. When she was listening very intently her lips would part very slightly, and her eyes widened like daisies at dawn. He told her the whole tale of his family, to the bitter end, and those eyes brimmed with tears of sympathy.

'Oh, _Van_ ,' she said, and abruptly sat up and hugged him. With her head on his shoulder, she must have closed her eyes, because her lashes shed a few warm drops onto his skin. Now this undershirt felt inadequate. But her sympathy, her kindness, was so warm and sweet that he was near to tears himself.

'Celena…' He put his arms awkwardly around her, almost afraid to touch, and his fingers strayed to stroke the back of her head. She had such very soft hair. His fingers gently closed.

'What?' Her head jerked up and she looked at him as if in fear.

'What? Nothing! I just - excuse me.' He let go of her completely. 'I didn't mean to do that. I'm sorry if I upset you.'

'I…' She looked confused. 'I don't know why it… upset me.'

'Did I pull your hair?'

She put her hand to the back of her head. 'No… it feels all right. I suppose I was just being silly.' She smiled a little weakly. 'It's a very sad story, but it's happy in the end, isn't it? Because you've found your brother again.'

'Of course,' Van said hastily. 'Of course that makes it a happy ending.' Why was she looking at him that way?

Celena did not exactly embrace him, but she put her hands on his shoulders and drew them down, stroking his arms. 'You're still sad, though.'

'No I'm not,' he said, bewildered. 'I'm very happy. Everything has worked out for the best. Folken's explained it all to me. And together we're going to bring about a better future. Everything is going to be fine. And I owe it all to him.' She had not taken her hands away; they slid gently up and down, a movement that was half soothing, half galvanising. 'Celena, honestly, it's very nice of you to be concerned about me, but what do I have to be sad about any more?' For no reason he could understand, he had a sensation of rising panic, not merely nervousness at being so close to her. Something was happening, or trying to happen, that should not, he was sure should not be. He was getting a headache.

'What if I tell you another story?' he said desperately. 'I know so many. My old sword-master Balgus used to tell me all about the adventures he and my father had as young men. He trained my father too, you know. He was a sort of family heirloom.' He tried to smile at the little joke. 'Why don't I tell you about how my father slew the dragon that made him king?'

'All right,' said Celena, looking somewhat disappointed. She sat back from him again. 'Please do.'

 

For the next few days he kept her at arm's length, simply talking so much that she could not think of anything else his mouth might be doing. If they did not talk, they ate; he brought her treats from Folken's table in addition to showing her which plants in the garden were edible. A couple of times they slept, because when lying on soft grass with warm sun blanketing you and the soft hum of bees in your ears it is easy to lose the thread of your conversation and doze off. Folken came to call for Van at the end of a visit and found them this way. He almost hadn't the heart to wake them. He was a little concerned at the vein of sentimentality that seemed to be running in him these days.

He was still doing his work, but in times past there had been no such thing as free time. Time when he did not _have_ to do any work was time when he did it anyway. Now… well, there were already the lunches with Van, and while he had always listened to recorded music as he drew up orders or reviewed paperwork, because it helped him to think, now there were times when he pushed himself away from his desk, leaned back in his chair and listened with his eyes closed, letting himself daydream. He was still too conscientious to dream wildly, to let his mind wander wherever it might; he confined himself to simple, probable, pleasant thoughts of the near future. Nariya and Eriya would be back before long. They would meet Van. They would surely like each other. Celena's mind and heart would blossom under Van's care, and Van would be made gentle again by his love of her. Van would prove a better leader of the Dragonslayers than Dilandau had ever been and no-one would mind that Dilandau had reverted under Folken's care. A new world order would come… there would be no more broken hearts… he would have done the right thing and everyone would be so happy. All would be forgiven.

All right, perhaps sometimes he allowed himself a flight of fancy regarding the more distant future. It was still possible. It was the outcome he sought. There was every reason to be optimistic. King Aston, for all his high opinion of his own importance and desire to play both sides, would be easily won over. The small group of agitators moving against them could be headed off in Freid without great difficulty. The Duke was not a fearsome prospect. It might not even be necessary to use force.

 _I will if I must. But I still hope for the best._

What he still would not let himself think of were the details of his life once the plan was successful. Perhaps it was superstitious, but he could not shake the feeling that being overconfident might jinx him. The questions came sometimes, late at night - where will I live? What will I do? Will I be free, or will there be more that Lord Dornkirk needs from me? - but he refused to speculate upon the answers. Dreams could take him only so far. He had always been prepared to give up his life if he had to, and it would be foolish to make that harder by creating a dream-life ahead of himself, something to live for beyond Lord Dornkirk's design.

He wondered what Van was dreaming about as he lay there with his head pillowed among daisies. Perhaps nothing; his eyelids were still and his face was calm. Folken crouched down on his heels to watch more closely, his shadow falling across Van's head and shoulders. Celena sighed in her sleep, her hands opening and closing fitfully for a moment, before she relaxed again. They looked so much like children, lying there.

Van's eyes were moving under their lids now, and his breathing quickened a little. His brows drew together in a faint frown.

'Nnnhh…' His lips parted slightly and his teeth showed briefly, set together as though in pain or anger. Folken watched, perturbed. Van was breathing hard now; he appeared to be struggling somehow, although his body was motionless. His arms and legs had stiffened, however, and after a moment his back began to arch. It was almost like a seizure.

'Van,' Folken said, softly, urgently, and touched his shoulder with his good hand. Van gasped and woke as if into a battle; his hand flew up and seized Folken's wrist in a grip tight enough to be painful. He stared wild-eyed at his brother's hand, panting and bewildered. The intensity of his eyes gradually faded into mist.

'I thought…' he said breathlessly. 'I thought… hurting me… or something… I think I was angry. I… don't know now.'

'Are you all right?' Folken asked, with some forbearance. He had not realised Van was quite this strong.

'Yes… yes.' Van appeared to realise he was half-crushing his brother's wrist and let go of it hurriedly. 'I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?'

'Oh, it's all right,' said Folken wryly, shaking the blood back into it, 'I've still got one that works. Did you sleep well?'

'Er… yes… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be lazy… I have to get back now, don't I?' He pushed his fingers through his hair, making it stand up in spikes, and rubbed at his face in an effort to wake himself up more thoroughly.

'Yes. I hope you haven't just been coming here and sleeping the whole time. It hardly seems fair to Celena. And at your age you really shouldn't need an afternoon nap.'

'I just… well, this is a peaceful place, and I haven't been sleeping too well at night lately.'

'No? What's the matter?'

'I just can't seem to drop off,' Van said, shrugging sheepishly, as though it were an admission of failure. 'My body's tired, but my brain won't stop.'

'What are you thinking about that keeps you awake?'

'Nothing much… just what happens during the day.' Van glanced at Celena. 'I'm not sure why she needs all the sleep, but she's happy to just nap where she falls down. I suppose if her paws twitch it means she's dreaming of chasing mice.'

'Do you tickle under her chin?' Folken asked, amused. Van looked at him reproachfully.

'There's no need to make _innuendoes_ ,' he said. 'I behave myself like a gentleman.'

Folken raised one crooked eyebrow quizzically. 'I wasn't suggesting that you didn't. How is it ungentlemanly to take an interest in a very nice, and incidentally very pretty, young woman?'

'If you like her so much, there she is,' said Van gruffly. Folken cuffed him gently on the shoulder.

'That _was_ ungentlemanly. You know perfectly well I was talking about you.'

'Well, it's embarrassing,' Van said. His brows knit again. 'Well, what if it _was_ you? What would you do?'

Folken felt a little lost. 'It's not me,' he hedged. 'I can't answer for you.'

'You're twenty-five… I do assume you know more about girls than I do.'

'I've never had time for girls,' Folken admitted.

Van looked astonished. 'What about those two you were talking about, Nariya and Eriya? I thought it was a bit wicked of you… twins… I was sort of impressed.'

'They're my _wards_ , Van!' Folken was quite startled. 'I don't feel that way about them, I couldn't. It would be taking advantage, and…' He faltered. 'I've never thought much about it. I suppose I'm not very interested in women.'

'You don't like them?'

'It isn't that. I respect women. But I've always had something more urgent, more important, to focus upon. I couldn't be so selfish as to pursue personal interests when all my energies were needed to bring about our destiny. Besides which, Van…' and here his mouth quirked at the corner, a slight bitter smile… 'do you seriously think anyone would have me? Look at me, just for a moment, as though you weren't my brother. I'm a cripple. If you were a woman, would you want this cold arm to hold you? Could you stand for this hand to touch yours? Don't be polite. Admit it. I would horrify you.'

'I might feel different if I got to know you,' Van said diffidently. 'Did you ever have a girlfriend before… you left home?'

'Why are you suddenly so deeply interested in my supposed love life?'

'You started it!'

'More fool me,' said Folken briskly, standing up. 'Now, I must be on my way to speak to Lord Dornkirk, and I believe you have a drill session to get to. I suggest that you get dressed and wake Celena before you leave, or she will wonder where you've gone.'

'I'm not _undressed_ ,' Van muttered defensively as he pulled on his boots.

When Celena was woken she only murmured a drowsy goodbye before rolling over and falling asleep again, a vague smile on her dreaming face. The brothers left together, neither in a comfortable frame of mind.

 

That night, in the Dragonslayers' dorm, Chesta unburdened himself.

'You twit…' said Migel, shaking his head. 'You haven't done any good. And all you've achieved is to get yourself upset.'

'Well, I didn't want to keep doing _nothing_ ,' said Chesta. 'I want to know where he _is_. I want to know what's happening to him! I feel as if we've deserted him.' He was sitting on his bed worrying at a small rip in the quilt's cover with his fingers.

'He's the one who's gone,' Dalet pointed out. 'We haven't deserted anyone. And before you get cross with me, Chesta, I am _not_ saying he's deserted _us_ , I just mean we haven't. Don't glare at me like that, it's scary when you're angry.' This was half a joke. Chesta was proverbial for being unable to make intimidating faces. Even when he was attacking he just looked serious.

'So the Strategos knows,' said Gatti. 'And there, I guess, is an end of it. Because he's not going to tell _us_ if he doesn't think we need to know. Any volunteers to ask him?'

There was an uncomfortable silence.

'Gosh, yes, I can just see that,' said Guimel, with what he thought was heavy irony. 'The bunch of us marching up to him and demanding an explanation.'

'Oi, Strategos! Spill yer guts!' barked Dalet, and got a small laugh.

'Guess whose guts would _really_ spill,' said Migel gloomily.

'It's just not fair,' said Chesta. He had teased out several fragments of eiderdown fluff and was working on drawing out a whole feather. 'Poor Dilandau-sama… and here we sit, useless as anything. Van-sama says we're just to stay in training and be ready to move out when necessary, but there's never any word on when "necessary" will be and I just don't trust him.'

'I know what you mean,' said Gatti. 'He's too nice to us. It's fake compared with how he was with Dilandau-sama.'

'Not that I'd _want_ him to treat me the way he treated Dilandau-sama,' said Biore with a shudder.

'What are we going to do?' Chesta asked mournfully, twiddling the feather around between his fingers and thumb. It was a little soft grey-brown wisp of a thing.

' _Nothing_ , Chesta,' said Gatti patiently. 'This is the military. You can't expect it to be nice or fair. We just have to take what they give us, and hurry up and wait. I don't know how you've managed to hang onto these ideas, you've been in it for as long as we have. Leave your quilt alone, you're getting on my nerves picking at it like that.'

Chesta was absent-mindedly tickling his lips with the feather. 'I still think there ought to be something we can do,' he said stubbornly.


	6. Over the Top

'I _will_ do it. I _won't_ chicken out. I'm _not_ afraid. What's the worst that can happen, anyway? No, don't think about that. I'm _not_ afraid. A little bit nervous, yes, but fully prepared to go on and do what I've planned. I'm _not_ afraid. Who am I kidding? I'm shitting myself.'

Chesta stopped walking and made himself keep very still for a moment. This felt much worse than going into battle. In a battle, he had Dilandau-sama telling him what to do; all responsibility for making decisions was taken from him and he simply followed orders to the best of his ability. He had made up his mind to do this by himself, and it was awful. He hoped he never got promoted to a command position because his nerves would never stand it.

Besides, in a _battle_ he was at the centre of a huge heavily-armoured guymelef with deadly liquid-metal weapons, a stealth cloak and a flamethrower. Here and now he just had himself. The armour-plating on his uniform and the sword on his belt were really no help; he couldn't use them and they only seemed to mock him with their supposed protection.

'All right,' he told himself, hoping no-one came along the corridor and heard him talking to himself like a lunatic, 'all right, just think, what would Dilandau-sama do? He'd just march right in there. He'd know he had a right to some answers. He'd do the same for me. Probably.' He'd often heard old soldiers from the infantry talk about what it was like before you went 'over the top' in old-fashioned trench warfare. You just had to try to get yourself psyched up and not think about how it was going to be. Let your training take over and guide you. Chesta hadn't been trained for this. If you thought about it, he'd been trained for the exact opposite.

He took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders and walked the rest of the way to the door of Strategos Folken's quarters. He shut his eyes and knocked as hard as he dared.

'Come in.' The voice was distant, preoccupied. At least he hadn't come and opened the door himself. If Chesta had had to look up at him framed in the doorway he might have lost his nerve and bolted. He made himself take hold of the doorknob with a firm hand and let himself in.

The first thing he was surprised at was that it was a nice room. He didn't know exactly what he had been imagining - some sort of dungeon with a coffin on the floor, and shackles on the walls for prisoners? - but it was quite unlike that. It was a bit dark, but so were all rooms on the _Vione_. There was a dining table and two chairs in one corner, and a rug on the floor, a pattern of warm dark and light browns. In the far wall was a door that probably connected to a bedroom. There was a low couch with a lot of books stacked on the floor around it, books full of dangling markers, some proper ones of leather or fabric but many just improvised from torn paper. Finally, there was a large desk against a wall of well-stocked shelves, and at this desk sat Folken Fanel, looking at him expectantly. He was paused in the act of writing in a large black-bound ledger with a red pen. There was rather pleasant, if melancholy, soft music playing. On one of the shelves above the desk was a squat black music-box.

The second thing that threw Chesta off balance was the fact that Folken was not wearing his sorcerer's cloak. It was hanging from a hook on the wall looking like a sleeping giant bat. He had never seen the Strategos without it, had never imagined him without it, and he was amazed at how different it made him look not to be encased from chin to floor-level in sinister, creaking black. He was still an intimidating figure. He was much too tall, even sitting down; you could see the infamous artificial arm even better this way, and the sombre face etched with purple tattoos was almost too much for Chesta to look at. But for the first time he saw him as more or less human. It gave him rather a shock, but also a little bit of courage.

'It's Chesta, isn't it?' said Folken. 'Can I help you?'

'Sir!' said Chesta, saluting while he tried to remember what he had planned to say. 'I've come to ask for some information, sir.'

'Information?' Folken repeated, rising from his chair and coming nearer. 'What did you want to know about?' He was making Chesta nervous again, looming over him. He probably couldn’t help it. When you were that tall looming was not optional.

'I… sir, it's about Dilandau-sama,' said Chesta, and lost his voice. He had just noticed for the first time that, like Dilandau-sama, Folken-sama had red eyes. Chesta had a terrible weakness where red eyes were concerned; they seemed to do things to him on a level he didn't understand. Perhaps it was because they were so unusual; they always seemed to have an intensity that you didn't see in ordinary people. Why had he never seen Folken-sama's eyes before? He'd been thinking of them as black or brown. It was going to be that much harder to stand up to a person with red eyes. His mouth had gone dry.

'What about Dilandau?' Folken asked, not impatiently. He was a little amused at Chesta's temerity in braving his possible displeasure not once but twice. The boy was obviously scared stiff; it was rather sweet that he was loyal enough to do this. He seemed to have forgotten his script, however, because he was just standing there with his mouth and eyes open, blushing slightly, so it was only fair for Folken to prompt him a little.

'Please, we want to know where he is. All of us. We're worried about him and we haven't heard a thing, we didn't even see him go, he just wasn't there when we woke up in the morning, only his bed all messed up, we - we made his bed for him so it'll be nice to come back to, we'd look after him, I mean I think we could if a doctor checked up on him regularly, I don't even know _what's_ wrong with him and I'm so worried, the nurse said he needed a specialist and I'm afraid I upset him right before he went and if he dies before I could make it up to him I'll never forgive myself and I don't know what to do and you won't _tell_ us anything!' Chesta said, and burst into tears. He was astonished at himself. Once he had started to say what he thought he seemed unable to stop, and he had hardly realised that he was so upset, or that he was so afraid Dilandau would die. He was deeply ashamed to cry like this, as he had not cried since he first left home (and Dilandau-sama had had very little patience with babyish homesickness), but he was helpless; the tears just came and came.

'You're not _fair!_ ' he exclaimed. 'You were horrible to him putting your brother in! I bet he's sick because of _you!_ ' He was worked up past the point of caring what Folken thought of him now. Everything was so terrible that he might as well be punished anyway and he would hardly notice. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed. At least this way he could not see those garnet eyes.

'Good grief,' said Folken, sounding more perplexed than enraged. 'You _are_ in a state. Come here and sit until you can calm down a little.' He put his hand on Chesta's shoulder and guided him, blind and choking, to the couch, where he made him sit down and seated himself next to him. This sudden outburst of grief had quite disarmed him. He was not used to thinking of the Dragonslayers as individual humans with feelings. He had rather tended to classify them all with Dilandau, as appetites for destruction on legs, useful when properly directed, agreeable to look at, but not worth getting to know. That was foolish. You obviously couldn't put this soft-faced, earnest boy in such a category. Dilandau, in Folken's opinion, did not deserve such a follower. Of course he should not be indulged in such behaviour, it was undisciplined and insubordinate, but there was room in Folken's mind for a little sympathy. He would feel a beast if he spoke harshly to Chesta now.

'Come now,' he said, patting Chesta's shoulder, 'you know you can't give way to your feelings like this. Try to pull yourself together. Would you want Dilandau to see you like this?'

'Nuhnuhno,' Chesta stammered, trying to wipe his eyes, 'but I wouldn't care if I could just see _him_ and know he's all right! You don't know how much he means to all of us. You don't care! You only care about your poxy brother.' He spoke very bitterly, and Folken felt it would be unfair to him to laugh.

'Chesta, look at me,' said Folken, firmly. He pulled Chesta's hands away from his face, gently holding the wrists. Chesta stared up at him, blinking miserably. He was one of those lucky people who did not look ugly when he cried; it only put colour into his lips and cheeks and made his eyes shine tremulously. He felt quite hopeless now. He could not look away and Folken-sama was going to pronounce some terrible judgement. It was all over now and he had not helped Dilandau-sama at all. He was the most useless failure there had ever been.

'You don't need to worry about Dilandau,' Folken said. 'He's going to be all right. I can't make you any promises about when or if he will return to the Dragonslayers, but he is in no danger. Does that make you feel better?'

Chesta's eyes widened still further and he drew in a shaky breath. He wanted to speak, but it was just impossible; the tears burst forth again with a loud wail of relief and he fell against Folken's chest, clinging to his hands.

'For heaven's sake,' Folken muttered, freeing his good hand and putting his arm around Chesta's shuddering shoulders, 'you're far too emotional.'

The problem was his own emotions. He was thoroughly disturbed by the way he was feeling. Some new pulse had begun to flutter when Chesta had first looked up at him like that, as though seeing him for the first time with those great vulnerable aquamarine eyes, and now it was beating strongly. It got worse the closer they got and the more impassioned Chesta became; he tried to detach himself from the situation but… well, it had been a mistake to touch him. The problem was how aroused he had become during this conversation. It was a possibility that had never occurred to him before. He had assumed he was attracted to nobody. It had been easier to believe that, that desire would never trouble him, since it would surely never be fulfilled. But here he sat, with his arms around a beautiful, weeping boy, acutely conscious of the warmth of the young body leaning against his, and of the answering warmth in his own veins, and he could not deny that it was the most erotic thing that had ever happened to him.

 _I must control myself. I mustn't do anything inappropriate. Is it all right to stroke his hair? Yes, I'm sure it is, I'm just being comforting. Oh, the smell of it… at least I've been able to touch his hair and feel how soft it is. I mustn't think like that._

'Chesta, pull yourself together,' he said, more sharply than he intended to, because he was overcompensating. 'I wouldn't have told you that if I'd known you'd make such a fuss. There was no need to tell you at all; you should have accepted what your superiors told you. What kind of soldier are you, anyway?'

'I'm a good soldier!' Chesta exclaimed, breaking away. He got to his feet and took a few hasty backwards steps away from the couch; his eyes were glittering with indignation as well as with tears. Unfortunately for Folken, this made him more attractive than ever. He had thought he had more willpower than this. Of course, in all other circumstances he had been applying willpower to what he _wanted_ to do. It did not seem to work nearly so well against it.

'You can't say that to me!' Chesta snapped. 'I've always done my duty, I've always been respectful, I've always obeyed your orders…'

'Would you obey any order?'

'Of course I would!'

'What if the order was to come back here and sit on my knee and kiss me?'

There was a moment of extreme stillness. Folken caught his breath at the sound of his own voice. It was too late to take it back now. He was over the top and had to go on. There was a sense of relief in being picked up and carried along by events like this; it was almost as though he was not really responsible and things were just happening by themselves. Chesta was staring at him in shock, but not, he thought (he hoped) in disgust.

 _You don't have to be afraid of him,_ Folken told himself. _Who could he tell? Who would believe him?_ Without quite knowing it, he dug the claws of his steel hand into the cushion he sat on.

'Is - is that the order?' Chesta asked hesitantly.

'Let's suppose that it is.' Folken spoke very carefully; deliberately. He was struggling not to show how eager he was to feel Chesta's body close to his again. He could not yet imagine how good the kiss might be.

For a seemingly endless moment, Chesta still stood there, biting his rosy lower lip. Then he stepped forward and cautiously seated himself in Folken's lap. With equal care, he put one arm around Folken's neck and looked into his face. Folken could feel now how much he was trembling. He was not sure he was rock-steady himself.

'On - on the cheek, or on the lips?' Chesta asked, his voice a little husky.

'When I say jump, you say how high… when I say kiss me, you say where…' Folken closed his eyes for a moment, treasuring the anticipation. He looked up at Chesta again, because he wanted to see when his eyes closed. 'On my lips will do.'

Chesta's eyelids dropped; it was all Folken could have hoped for, the gentle heaviness of sleep; they could both be drifting in a vibrant, feverish dream. He leaned forward and his nervous breath tickled for a moment on Folken's lips before he kissed them. Folken closed his own eyes tightly. He would not have believed that a simple kiss could make him feel this way. It was overwhelming. Such a simple, sweet little kiss, the boy's lips pressed against his, soft and almost dry with - with what? Fear? Excitement?

It was over far too soon, and he was looking into Chesta's eyes again, darker than before as the pupils dilated.

'Again, please,' he said, before anything else could be said.

'Is - is it still an order if you say please?' Chesta asked.

'Stop looking for loopholes and kiss me. Keep going until I tell you to stop.' He was afraid that he was forcing the point, frightening the boy too much, but he had never realised before how much he wanted to be kissed, how lonely his whole body had been, how his heart would burn within him at Chesta's touch. He had not felt this since the throbbing, over-excited dreams of his early adolescence, and now, perhaps because he was older, perhaps because he had denied himself for so long, it was a hundred times more intense. He could not be satisfied with only kisses, but he meant to extract every particle of pleasure from them that he could.

He put both arms around Chesta, hands stroking, drawing him closer, trying to feel the body inside all that leather and armour, while his lips devoured the boy's. Chesta truly was obedient. He pressed himself against Folken and admitted first the touch of his tongue, then its deeper exploration of the wet heat of his mouth. He even responded, slowly, gently, letting Folken's flickering heat play with his, until the Strategos lost control and softly bit his lower lip, drawing a muffled sound of protest from his throat.

They parted again, both gasping for air. Chesta was startled to see the change in Folken already, the crimson of his eyes, the wet shine on his flushed lips, the quivering energy that seemed to emanate from him. He hadn't known he could do that.

'Chesta,' Folken said thickly, 'I order you to be completely honest. And I promise that you will not be punished for how you answer. Were you enjoying that?'

Chesta took a deep breath. He was in so far over his head by now that sinking in a little further made no difference. 'Yes,' he said. 'Sir,' he added as an afterthought.

'Just call me Folken now. It's going to be different between you and me now.' Chesta thought Folken would kiss him again, but he seemed to have something else on his mind.

'One more question,' he said, 'and once more you have to tell me the truth.' His steel hand was resting on Chesta's hip. He slowly raised it and held it between them. 'Does… this… bother you?'

Chesta gazed at the hand, thinking how it reminded him both of armour and of a skeleton. It was so beautifully made, so ingenious. He had always thought that it made Folken seem superhuman. He took it in his own hand and kissed the cold palm. 'No,' he murmured. 'No.'

'That's a very lovely gesture,' said Folken, 'if a little pointless, given that I have no feeling in that hand.' He was so relieved that he had to make a dry little joke to keep himself from breaking down somehow. He had been so sure that would be what ruined it all.

'Well, I'll kiss you where you _will_ feel it,' said Chesta. He touched his lips to Folken's again, proving it. 'There are lots of places…' He kissed the point of his chin… the corner of his jaw… the soft side of his neck… his gloved fingers fumbled with the fastening inside his high collar.

'I can't believe you want to do this…' Folken whispered.

'I didn't know.'

'Let me help you…'

'Yes, sir…'

' _Stop_ that. That's your last order… now just do what you want.'

 

Two hours later, Folken lay in his bed alone. Chesta had left some time ago, so that he could have dinner with the Dragonslayers without his earlier absence in rest period being unduly noted, but he had felt so wiped out by what had happened that he had gone back to lie down while he tried to take it all in. The bed was really not big enough for two. He could not possibly get a bigger one because of this, could he?

Chesta had been a complete surprise. It was not simply that he seemed to have come out of nowhere, to suddenly present himself for Folken's attention after months living in the same place without contact. Nor was it only that he had been so willing, that he had not been repelled by Folken's broken, adulterated nature. His apparent initial reluctance had only been shyness and uncertainty as to Folken's intentions; he seemed to have no problem whatever with making love to a man. No problem at all. He had been so enthusiastic and seemed so knowledgeable that Folken was quite taken aback. When he had asked questions, Chesta had laughed and attributed it to a misspent youth reading dirty books under the covers after lights-out.

'That's where I got all my ideas,' he said. 'I wonder how many will turn out to be physically impossible? I want you to test me…'

He had done things Folken had never thought of. Right now he was aware of a warm, uneven ache corresponding to the purplish love-bites dappling his inner thighs; Chesta believed in quite aggressive teasing. Folken would never have expected it of a boy like him. He had thought he would be passive, modest, slow to arousal, even reluctant, perhaps whispering 'no, oh no' as he let Folken do whatever it was anyway.

'Just because a person looks innocent and has big blue eyes, people make all sorts of silly _assumptions_ about him,' had been Chesta's word on the matter.

On the whole, Folken thought he approved. He had expected to feel like the dominant lover, to have to do most of the work; instead they had been equal partners in pleasing one another. There were times when he had simply given himself up to whatever the boy wanted to do, submitting completely, and although technically he had 'taken' Chesta, he rather felt that he had been taken - taken by surprise, taken by storm, taken over.

He had been conquered completely. He had lost himself. It was wonderful. For just a few moments with his lover he had experienced oblivion of the separate self, forgotten utterly his loneliness and shame, been relieved of all thoughts of duty and destiny, and known only delight. In those moments, everything was right already, and there was nothing more he needed to do. He had succeeded completely, giving Chesta joy along with himself. He was made whole.

All that had been in and of the moment. He was himself again, and he felt almost as guilty as he had expected to. He felt guilt, but not regret. Those moments were untarnished in his memory. Of course it had been the wrong thing to do. Of course it was corrupting a young boy, although arguably he had been corrupting himself fairly well already - and how deliciously wicked of him to have kept it so secret. It was even a waste of time. He should have been reviewing the new battle order and making any necessary adjustments or corrections. He should be finishing that job right now, except all he wanted to do was to lie here and relive it all in his mind, every perfect moment, Chesta's soft fair skin, the salt and musk of his body, the way he caught his breath with a little choking gasp, the way he moaned after he came…

Of course it was wrong. He despised himself. But he could not regret it no matter how he tried.

And when Chesta crept away to come to his room that night, after the others were asleep, he could not regret that either. His desire was so strong now that it was awakened that they fell down on the rug together and made love very rapidly just to take the edge off their appetites before proceeding at a more leisurely pace. It was decided that Chesta would stay all night; Folken would wake him early so he could slip back to the dormitory before the other boys were awake.

At a hushed and dreaming hour of the late night or early morning, Folken lay and watched Chesta's sleeping face, pillowed on his good shoulder. Sharing a single bed built for a lonely man meant sleeping very close together in any case, but he felt that the closeness would have been by choice if there had been any. Such a beautiful moonlight boy, a picture of innocence, the silk-smoothness of his skin only slightly marred by the reddish traces around his mouth of forceful kisses from an older man.

 _I can't believe I've made love to a boy who doesn't shave yet. He's a full ten years younger than me; he's the age of my little brother. I don't care. I want him. I've never been so selfish… I can't believe I'm doing it now… but I want to keep him for my own no matter what._

 _And is_ he _selfish, the little darling? I think Dilandau has gone entirely out of his head since he became the star of his own little passion-play. He thinks only of me. Oh, I want to believe that he thinks only of me, that I'm something wonderful to him… not just pitiful broken-down Folken. He used to be so afraid of me and now he doesn’t think twice about jumping my bones. Does familiarity breed contempt? Or will this just get better and better?_

 

Closer to morning, Chesta woke and found Folken sleeping in his turn. _He looks younger asleep. But sadder. Here I am in bed with Strategos Folken, the great and terrible, who has licked the tears from my face and kissed me in places I wouldn’t mention in public and begged me to do things I blush to think about… but I'll still do them. This morning I was scared of him and thought him inhuman. Tonight I can kiss this teardrop of his. I could never have imagined what would happen when I went to see him about Dilandau-sama… and I wish I could get rid of the thought that maybe all this is partly because he didn't want to give me a straight answer. He hasn't really told me anything, just that I don't need to worry. That's a matter of opinion… but things are better tonight than they were this morning, and next day they may be better still._

Van looked at his brother suspiciously.

'What are you whistling for?' he asked.

'What?' said Folken, bringing his mind back to the here and now.

'You're sitting there,' said Van, 'tilting back on two legs of your chair, letting your soup get cold, looking into space and whistling. It's the closest I've seen anyone get to smiling and whistling at the same time.'

'I wasn't even aware of the whistling,' said Folken, returning his chair to a more normal position. 'I suppose I feel cheerful today.'

Van raised his eyebrows in a rather sarcastic and pointed manner.

'Stranger things have happened,' said Folken defensively. 'I have a right to feel optimistic. The war to end war is proceeding well, _you're_ all right, I've had a message from Nariya and Eriya to say they've achieved their objective and are coming back, and… and it's a nice day today.'

'Who are you,' said Van, 'and what have you done with my brother?'

'Try not to talk rubbish, Van,' said Folken reprovingly. He ate a few spoonfuls of soup before forgetting what he was doing again. It was stealing over him with more and more certainty that he was in love. Clearly it had a deleterious effect on his higher mental processes. He was not sure if he had fallen in love with Chesta because he had slept with him, or if he had wanted to sleep with him because he was falling in love him, but either way, his lover was a good deal more on his mind than watercress soup. It was the most ridiculous state, because it was making him feel unutterably happy even as he was reminding himself of how dangerous it was.

'And what happened to your _hair_?' Van asked. 'You look like you did when we were kids.'

'I ran out of the stuff I use to style it,' Folken said promptly. There could be nothing more natural; Van would have absolutely no reason to disbelieve it unless he was inquisitive enough to look in the bathroom wastebasket and saw the two-thirds full tin of styling wax. It had been deposited there by Chesta, who, after an enjoyably soapy shared shower at four a.m., had announced that he found Folken more appealing with his hair floppy and something else stiff. He was getting quite bumptious and bossy with him, which Folken was surprised to find he very much liked. He had been attracted at first to Chesta's vulnerability and loyalty, but he would not have been much fun were he totally submissive. Folken was so accustomed to people fearing and distrusting him that it was rather wonderful to experience exactly the opposite. All Chesta needed was a little affection and he blossomed in confidence. His cheekiness was nothing like Dilandau's insolence.

'But you have to watch it,' Folken had warned him. If Chesta had to get up early, he thought he might as well too, and catch up on some work that morning; he was letting Chesta sit up on the tiles around the bathroom sink, wrapped in a towel, and paint the shaving soap onto his face.

'You mustn't give any sign in your behaviour that things are different now. Not in the way you speak or act, and definitely not in the way you talk to me. Try to behave just the way you did before.'

'Yes, Folken-sama,' said Chesta, and rolled his eyes with exaggerated fear. Then he dabbed the shaving-brush on the end of Folken's nose.

'You're lovely in bed, but a terrible actor.' Folken wiped at his nose and looked at Chesta appraisingly. 'Let's try that again. Try to look as though I scared you. Seriously, now.'

Chesta composed himself. After a moment he succeeded in looking convincingly anxious.

'That's _quite_ good,' said Folken judiciously.

'It's a lot more difficult when you're wearing nothing but a towel and shaving soap than when you're looming around in black leather.'

'Imagine the cloak, then. Try to look really unnerved.' He leaned closer, staring into Chesta's face with a cold, remote expression.

'You _are_ unnerving me,' said Chesta. 'Stop it.' Folken continued his chilly gaze, adding to it a certain suggestion of scorn and contempt. 'Really, stop it! You're scaring me, Folken.' His eyes were wide with panic and his cheeks, previously ruddy in the warm steamy air of the bathroom, had turned pale.

Folken held him paralysed for a few moments more, then said 'Grr,' and smiled.

'You _prick!_ ' squealed Chesta, half laughing, and slapped him. Folken growled again and seized him around the waist, intending to kiss him. 'Don't!' Chesta gasped. 'I don't want a mouthful of soap off your face!'

'Can you help me shave, then? I'll let you try if you're extremely careful.' Folken picked up the cutthroat razor that lay beside the sink. He had to keep perfectly still while Chesta, with an immensely serious expression on his face, slowly and carefully scraped away the white foam until his face was bare and clean. Something in the combination of factors - the need for self-restraint, Chesta's earnest eyes, the closeness to him, the feeling of the blade on his skin and of trusting his lover with his life, in a way - had such a powerfully stimulating effect on Folken that by the time the job was done he could hardly wait to slide inside him - and fortunately Chesta was perfectly willing.

'I - I can see myself in the mirror,' he gasped, bracing his arms against the rim of the sink. Folken was doing his best not to be rough - he was afraid he must be rubbing the boy raw by this time - but there was no way he could avoid using some force in his movements.

'Do you like it?' he asked.

'I like how we look together,' Chesta replied. 'I like… seeing you behind me… and feeling you in me… and… oh… ohh…' He closed his eyes, biting his lower lip and tilting back his head, concentrating only on what he felt. His bare feet slipped slightly on the tiled floor. Folken found himself staring at the rhythmically moving image in the half-steamed-over mirror, at Chesta's pale torso cut across by his embracing metal arm, at his good arm disappearing below the mirror's frame, the hand gently, insistently, pulling and rubbing, at Chesta's softly flushed face and damp golden hair, at his own face, half in shadow but with eyes shining in a way he had never seen. In that moment he thought he might really be the half-demon his father's councillors had warned of. Perhaps that was why… perhaps that was what had always been wrong with him… if it brought him to such ecstasy as this, he could not disown it.

He felt warm tears running down his face, salt stinging where Chesta had scraped the skin a little too closely.

'Yes…' Chesta breathed.

'Chesta… sweet…'

'Folken… ohh… oh, Folken… _sama_!'

 

'I don't know _what_ you're thinking about,' Van said, 'but you have the most vacant expression on your face.'

'I'm so sorry,' said Folken, 'I just seem to keep drifting off today.'

'Maybe you didn't sleep enough last night.'

'No, I don't think I did.' Folken looked almost pleased at the thought. Van really was getting worried about him.


	7. A Double

Despite Chesta's best efforts at acting, it had been fairly evident to the other Dragonslayers at dinner that he had cheered up. Folken had given him permission (sealed with a kiss) to tell part of the truth, anyway.

'Guess what,' he said, beaming up and down the long table. 'I plucked up the courage to just go and ask Folken-sama about Dilandau-sama.'

'You never,' said Migel, stopping with a chunk of sausage halfway to his mouth to stare. 'He scares you stupid.'

'Well, not any more,' said Chesta firmly. 'Because I just took a deep breath and went in there and asked him, and he was perfectly nice and reasonable and told me Dilandau-sama is all right. He can't say when he'll be coming back but there's no need for us to worry. So isn't that a weight off your minds? I don't know why I was so frightened of him. He may look a bit forbidding but he's really very kind.'

'We are talking about the same Folken-sama _we_ know, right?' said Dalet. 'Tall, cadaverous, spooky as hell?'

'Hey,' said both Chesta and Van, indignantly, at the same moment.

'That's not fair,' Chesta murmured, before subsiding into slightly red-faced silence. He certainly didn't expect (or want) the others to find Folken as attractive as he did, but he didn't think _cadaverous_ was at all a fitting word.

'I don't want to hear you talking about your commanding officer like that,' Van said sternly. 'Show some respect.'

'He isn't even here,' Biore whispered mutinously to Gatti. 'Dilandau-sama wouldn’t mind.'

'Dilandau-sama would have been the first to start taking the piss out of him,' Gatti agreed under his breath. 'At least he had a sense of humour. It might have been a bit warped, but it was there.'

'I hear whispering,' Van said, at the head of the table. 'Do you two want to share your conversation with the rest of us?'

'No, Van-sama,' said Biore brightly, 'Gatti was just asking me if my constipation had cleared up.'

'Not while I'm eating, _please_ ,' said Van, and returned his attention to his tray.

' _Constipation?_ ' hissed Gatti.

'It had to be something he wouldn't want to ask any more about,' Biore hissed back.

'I know, but couldn't it be a verruca or something? I don't want people to think I'm interested in constipation.'

'Ssh, he'll notice us again.' They re-applied themselves to putting away mashed potatoes.

'Um, so, Van-sama,' said Chesta, 'I thought it was - well, you've got a nice brother, that's all. I'd misjudged him.' He still wasn't at all sure he liked Van, but he felt it would be a good idea to be nice to his lover's younger brother. Somehow he wasn't afraid of him any more, and that made it much easier to be charitable. He felt as though he was on the same level now, or possibly higher.

Van gave him an odd look. 'Well, thank you,' he said. Chesta really was weird. Looking this happy just because he knew Dilandau was all right - Dilandau, who'd abused him physically and verbally every day. Yet he'd always prefer him to Van. Van was getting impatient with the Dragonslayers' professional coolness towards him and it was making him snappy. He supposed it was paranoid, but when he heard them whispering apart he worried that they were saying things about him. Then he made himself sound like a schoolteacher by calling them on it. Now Chesta was acting friendly, which was quite bizarre since he'd been the one looking at him with kicked-puppy eyes every day just because he wasn't the fabulous Dilandau-sama. He couldn't relax around them at all, knowing they were all just waiting for the day when that freak would be back.

He also wanted to know why Folken had told odd little Chesta something he had never told Van. To be sure, he had not _asked_ what was really happening with Dilandau… perhaps Folken assumed that if he didn't ask directly he didn't want to know… but it made him wonder if his brother was keeping secrets from him. The thought gave him a headache, a steady throbbing at the base of his skull.

 

So that had been last night, and today at lunch Folken had not even seemed to be all there. Perhaps he _did_ have secrets. Perhaps Chesta and the others were involved. Perhaps he was planning something.

Van drew up short in the corridor and wondered at himself. _Why would I think something like that about Folken? How could it cross my mind that he might deceive me? I know that's complete nonsense. He loves me. He's on my side. The only person who is. I mustn't ever think things like that about him. What's wrong with me?_

He was going to Celena's garden by himself this time; Folken had told him the combination for the door, saying he had work to catch up on and couldn't spare the time to walk with him. He said he was sorry, but he was still in such an obvious good mood that it didn't ring very true. He had developed a mannerism overnight, a way of brushing his hair back from his forehead with his fingers, that annoyed Van. He found it affected, even effeminate - which he knew was unfair, because objectively it was a perfectly ordinary gesture such as any man with longish hair might make. He just didn't like Folken changing, somehow. It made him seem unreliable.

 _I've got to stop criticising him. I'm being ridiculous. I'm being as bad as Dalet, insulting him. No-one should say things like that about my brother. Least of all me. Traitor._

He could not shake off this headache. It would be so nice to get into the garden and breathe the sweeter air there. Celena would be happy to see him. Her company was restful by comparison with that of any of the others. A little slowly, because he had not done it before, he operated the combination lock and went in.

She was sleeping in her favourite little dip in the grassy turf. She was still wearing yesterday's garland of daisies and buttercups, withered and shrunken amid the silver-gold waves of her hair. She never wanted to take off anything he had made for her.

 _Well,_ he thought, _I wanted peace and quiet. Here it is. There's no need to wake her up. I'll just settle down and wait for her._

Celena made a faint 'mmph' sound in her sleep as he sat down beside her and unzipped his jacket. Peeling it off, he rolled his neck and shoulders around. The weight of the armour always seemed to give him stiff muscles there; either that or he was spending too much time in a state of physical tension. There was a physiotherapist attached to the infirmary; perhaps he should go and ask for a back rub. Folken had to go to her sometimes for acupuncture to relieve the aches and pains he got where his artificial shoulder joint met the living flesh and bone. He sometimes made sour little jokes about living with his steel arm; Van remembered him saying he was the only person he knew who kept an oilcan in his bathroom cupboard.

It _might_ be soothing to lie down in the infirmary and have the tension kneaded out of his muscles, but then again it might just make him feel as though he was sick. He had an odd feeling of aversion to the idea of lying down on any sort of medical bed. It was probably better for him just to lie here under the skylight with Celena, and enjoy the feeling of grass between his fingers and toes. This was a nice natural place, or as close to natural as anything got on board the _Vione_. He had never left it since he had been… since his brother had brought him to live with him. It was becoming his world. Fanelia hardly seemed real by comparison. Probably its meadows had not been any more beautiful than this. The grass was surely coarser and full of weeds and thistles. It must be better here.

And of course, there was no Celena. He settled himself on the ground, propped on one elbow, and watched her as she slept. She needed him. That was a comforting certainty. He had been able to do her undeniable good. In the short time they had spent together, she had become much more lucid and focused. She still could not remember anything about herself, but it turned out that she could read and write, if slowly, and elements of common sense appeared to be coming back to her. She talked intelligently about a variety of things, considering with a rather pretty frown before she pronounced on any point of which she was unsure. She always deferred to his superior knowledge, but she was forming opinions of her own. She laughed at his jokes, listened raptly to his stories and was delighted by everything he gave her, from a daisy-chain to a bowl of oyster-crackers to a butterfly he had twisted out of wire. She had stopped asking him to kiss her with words, but made persistent and eloquent requests with her eyes.

 _Why don't I?_ he thought. _Really, what holds me back? I don't know why I feel so scared. It can't be that difficult to do right. It would probably be nice… make me feel happier. It's not as though I'm jumping on her without knowing her. I know her as well as I can. I think she's sweet._

Celena turned her head towards him and her lips parted slightly, although she was still sound asleep. Van found himself staring, as he was afraid he often stared, at her soft pink mouth, at the weak Cupid's bow of her upper lip and the inviting fullness of the lower. He had touched her lips by chance when feeding her the little treats he brought; that was a tradition between them. Yesterday when it was raspberries she had licked a trace of juice from his thumb and - and his nerve had failed him, although his mind filled with thoughts of tasting the juice in her mouth, her red-stained lips and tongue, which had stayed with him for much of the night. He was deeply confused by his feelings, by the unreliable desire he felt which would not seem to translate into physical form. He was having wet dreams that he couldn't remember when he woke. Obviously there was _something_ lighting his fire, but when he was actually with Celena he seemed to freeze. It was nice that he had never been embarrassed by an unwanted erection when they were close, but then he had to wonder why it didn't happen when he was certainly having thoughts along those lines.

He was getting disgusted with himself by this time. Impatience and exasperation as much as anything else pushed him on now. If he didn’t have the balls to try it even when she was asleep, how much of a man was he? He bent his head towards Celena and experimentally kissed the corner of her mouth. She did not stir, and he tried again, a more definite and centred kiss. The air of a faint sigh tickled his face. He kissed her once more, and, with his eyes closed, felt rather than saw her awake. She gave a little gasp and he thought perhaps he should stop, but in the moment before he could move, her arms laced across his back and drew him down upon her.

 _This is just right,_ Van thought, _just as it should be, no need for words… except I hope she understands what's going on. How do I ask? I've got to touch her. I want to touch her. There's nothing to be afraid of, she's a sensible girl, if she doesn't like it she'll tell me so, won't she?_ Feeling extremely awkward, he slid his hands down to her hips and tried stroking gently up and down. _I wonder when you start really enjoying this, instead of thinking so hard?_ Seriously kissing was full of surprises; he had not realised how wet her mouth would be, how _alive_ she would feel, more so than he felt. He was not getting any less nervous. White hissing panic was rising up in him, infuriating him. It shouldn't feel so mechanical, surely. It was as though his whole body had been replaced by artificial parts like Folken's arm, moving exactly like human limbs but without feeling, not animated by a soul. Under him, Celena gently arched her back and moved one leg to wrap around him.

Van rolled away.

He pushed himself away from her so vigorously that he rolled over twice before coming to a stop on his back, staring up at the clouds passing over the glass ceiling, his breath rasping in his chest. He looked towards Celena. She was half sitting up, her cheeks and lips flushed a deep warm pink, but an expression of hurt and bewilderment in her eyes.

'What's wrong?' she asked.

'I'm sorry,' he said, 'I'm so sorry. I just can't do this, it's wrong.'

'It isn't wrong if we both like it, is it?' she asked plaintively. 'Unless… unless you _don't_ like it, you don't like _me_.'

'I _do_ like you! I think about it all the time. Sometimes I can't sleep for thinking about it. But…' He could not explain his own feelings. Uppermost in his mind was a horrible sense of disappointment. He started to gather up the outer clothes he had cast off. 'I can't stay. I'm so sorry, I have to go. It isn't fair to you. I… I need to think about this a lot more. I don't know what's right any more.'

'But you'll come back tomorrow, right?' she asked, her voice high with concern.

'I can't promise,' he said helplessly.

Unexpectedly, her face set into lines of anger. It was the first time he had seen anger in Celena, and it bewildered him.

'Fine, then,' she said, 'just go away and leave me after making me feel all sorts of things I'd never have thought of if you hadn't come. Just leave me alone like everyone else. I don't need you! I would have been happier without you! Get out!' The last words were almost a scream. Her eyes blazed through bitter tears.

For a long moment Van stared at her with wide eyes. Then he turned, clutching his jacket and boots, and left at a pace which was just one notch down from running.

 

Night wrapped around the _Vione_ , concealing no-one knew how many secrets. It was an inferior cloak to those Folken had devised, but it was sufficient to hide a great deal. It gave perfect concealment to a fair-haired boy stealing his way from the Dragonslayers' dormitory to the quarters of the Strategos. He moved quickly, because he was eager to get there, and because it was a cold night to be creeping about in just his nightshirt. Everything seemed exciting, dramatic, romantic, because of where he was going, because of what he anticipated. The shadows must watch him with envy in their hearts. He had to feel sorry for everyone who was wasting this night on just sleeping, for lack of anything better to do. As for those who lay awake alone, poor creatures! It might be better if they didn't know what they were missing.

 

Folken did not quite hear the second knock at his door that night; it was muffled as Chesta's thighs pressed together on either side of his head, an involuntary squeeze which was repeated at all moments of the most intense pleasure. They were comfortably settled in Folken's bed. Soon enough he would spread those sweetly perspiring legs apart and up for a still deeper intimacy (or obscenity, a disapproving, castigating part of him thought) but at the moment he was fully and contentedly occupied with gently varying the pressure of his suction in just the way that was making Chesta's fingers convulsively tighten their grip on his hair and his rapid breathing turn to broken, high-pitched gasps.

In the beginning he had honestly not expected to enjoy doing something like this so much, to find it such a positive pleasure in itself rather than a service patiently rendered for the sake of pleasing Chesta. Perhaps it was lowering himself this way, worshipping Chesta's body so humbly, that made it so exciting. Perhaps it was the taste and the smell and the heat. Perhaps it was the pressure, the confinement, the breathless crush of the humid little world he lowered himself into, Chesta's hands and thighs holding him there so desperately, the slip and tug of wet suction and the thickly swollen flesh in his mouth coming close to choking him at times. It made him feel dirtier the more he tried to analyse it, and in his most clear-headed moments he suspected that that was the secret. It was because he thought it was obscene that it thrilled him so much. It was because he disapproved of himself that he was delighted. None of these thoughts came clearly to his mind as he actually _did_ the thing, any more than the sound of the knock came clearly to his ears.

He did, however, hear his brother's voice a moment later.

'Brother? Can I come in? It's me, Van.' He was outside the door in the corridor. Folken felt a jolt of mixed panic and fury at being interrupted at this moment, and fervent relief that Van had not just walked right in. He raised his head and looked up at Chesta, who stared back at him in silent horror. There was no time to lose.

'Get under the bed, quickly,' said Folken quietly, 'and keep very still.' Chesta obeyed immediately. Folken pulled up the covers and sat up in bed, wondering exactly how obvious it was what he had been doing. Self-consciously, he wiped his sweating face on the underside of the sheet and drew up his legs to prevent the appearance of a 'tent.' At the same time, he tried to make his voice sound sleepy and called out to his brother to come in. As he heard the door of the outer room open, his heart lurched at the thought that Chesta's nightshirt was still lying crumpled on the bedroom floor. He looked down and saw a slender arm clawing it out of sight under the bed. Folken congratulated himself on his taste in sensible boys and tried to relax. It was not particularly easy, since he did not seem able to stop feeling aroused at a moment's notice; he felt as though he had 'SEX!' tattooed across his forehead to show everyone what he was thinking. That had been the rather self-dramatising logic behind his purple teardrop; an external token of his inner state. It was no longer perfectly accurate, of course, but he was not yet at the stage where he could consider having it changed to a heart as Chesta had sweetly but naively suggested.

Van's footsteps were crossing the outer room. Folken tried to think if there was anything incriminating out there. An empty half-bottle of wine - but they had drunk from one glass, and even if drinking alone was a bit pathetic, he was sure Van would be ready to believe that was the explanation. Thank God they hadn't done with the bottle what Chesta had suggested, giggling slightly because he was, at the time, a little (adorable) bit drunk.

The bedroom door slid open and Van looked in. 'Did I wake you up?' he asked. 'I thought maybe you wouldn't have gone to bed yet.'

'It's after midnight,' Folken said, trying to sound stern instead of guilty. 'You should be in bed, at any rate.'

'I'm sorry,' said Van, coming into the room properly. He was wearing the black dressing-gown Folken had given him as a welcoming present, but Folken could see his trouser legs under it; he was not ready for bed. 'I don't feel like I can go to sleep until I've talked to you, and I've been trying for hours to figure out exactly what I want to say.'

'Oh?' said Folken. He was caught between wanting Van to leave as soon as possible, and genuine concern for whatever was worrying his brother. Clearly he _was_ worried. Folken had not seen him look so troubled for some time. He had thought things were going so well. Van had started to seem stable. Had he not observed something important because he was so bound up for once in what was happening in his own life?

Van wandered over to Folken's bureau and fiddled with the handles on the top drawer. He did not seem able to come to the point immediately, although everything about him seemed drawn tight with unhappy tension.

'What's the matter, Van?' Folken asked gently. 'I always want you to feel that you can confide in me.' _Apart from anything else, I need to know what you're thinking. You're too unpredictable._

'It's about Celena,' Van said, almost inaudibly. Folken had to ask him to turn around and repeat himself.

Under the bed, curled up into the corner of the wall, Chesta wondered a little who Celena was, although mostly he wondered when he would be able to get out from here. It was both chilly and dusty, and he had nothing between his skin and the cold floor. Putting his nightshirt on, or even getting it under him, would involve too much movement and noise to be worth the risk. He felt very exposed, even in his hiding place.

'I can't see her any more,' Van said, in a tone which suggested he expected to get into trouble for such a declaration.

'Whyever not?' Folken asked. His calmness surprised Van; although when he thought about it Folken spoke much more calmly than he looked. He was rather red in the face, now that Van looked closely. He must only just be keeping a grip on himself. Better talk fast.

'I - I know it seems very ungrateful, after you arranged everything for us. And I know it seems uncaring, because she needs someone to look after her. But it just can't be me, brother, I can't do it!'

'Is it too difficult to reach her?' Folken said. 'From the things you told me, I'd had the impression you were communicating very well.' It was taking a heroic effort to find sensible things to say and keep his mind on the conversation. It had just occurred to him that there was definitely a fresh love-bite on the side of his neck, and he had no idea if his hair hid it. If he tried to sit with his hand over it that would only draw attention. If he didn't cover it Van might happen to notice it. The expression 'guilt was written all over him' took on new significance in his mind. Surely it was horribly obvious. The imaginary tattooist got busy with his needle; in addition to the forehead adornment there was now 'dirty old man' on his good shoulder, 'faggot' picked out in rivets on the other arm, and a large, unequivocal 'PERVERT' inscribed across his chest.

Van looked around the room, avoiding his brother's eyes, for which said brother was grateful.

'Why are your clothes all over the place?' he asked. 'You were tidy when I stayed with you before.'

Folken felt trapped. 'I wanted to make a good impression,' he lied. 'Things get a bit scattered in here sometimes.' He normally _was_ tidy. He prayed Van hadn't noticed that his underwear was hanging from the upper corner of the bathroom door. Even a typically untidy person probably wouldn't have flung it up there. This was what you got for getting over-excited; it came back to shame you.

'You've changed lately,' Van said, frowning.

'I don't think I have. As I said, I was trying to make a good impression on you before. I suppose now I'm relaxing a little.' _I suppose this means I'll have to keep the place deliberately messy from now on in case he pops in. It's such tiresome work trying to keep one's lies consistent. And I don't_ want _untidy quarters._

'You didn't need to do that,' Van said. He was standing in the middle of the room now, sort of hovering, as though unsure whether to stay where he was, or sit down, or leave altogether.

'You still haven't said what the problem with Celena is,' Folken reminded him. 'I would like to know. I thought you were rather enjoying your time with her.' Inwardly he was cursing himself for not having kept closer tabs on the surveillance footage from the garden. It was not that Chesta had taken his mind right off it, because he was not that careless; but what he had already seen had been so encouraging that he had not been on the lookout for signs of trouble. He hadn't viewed today's recording yet; other, entirely legitimate business had occupied him and he had considered it a higher priority than his pet project.

'It's - well, that's the trouble,' Van said, looking deeply embarrassed. 'It's… what you were teasing me about the other day. I'm - I sort of - well, I like her very much, of course, and…' Folken got no particular enjoyment out of watching his brother flounder, so he nodded in an understanding way.

'You're attracted to her?' he suggested.

'Yes. Too much. It's a distraction to me. I think it's weakening me. I'm all mixed up about it and it's not fair to you.'

'To me?' Folken repeated. 'I don't see where I come into it.'

'Because of the opportunity you've given me, to help you with something so important, for everyone, for the whole world, and I'm not putting my heart into it! I've got no right to get distracted by a girl when the plan is so much more important. I was thinking about what you told me, about how you'd never had time for women because of your duty, and I just felt so small and shabby and weak that I had to _do_ something about it. I know I've let you down, I know you wanted me to help look after her, but I'm just not strong enough to be with her without wanting… what I _shouldn't_ want. I want to serve you and help you the best way I can. With the Dragonslayers. That's what I'm good at. I think it's all I'm good for. I'm not clever like you. I'm not a natural leader like you, I have to work so hard at it and then I'm never sure I'm getting it right… but I'll do my best, I swear by Escaflowne, and our father's sword, and anything else you want. I'll do anything for you, except that I can't see Celena any more.' Van was so much in earnest that he was trembling; it alarmed Folken to see how worked up he was about this. _It worked better than I ever thought. He's devoted to me above all else. Sometimes my own power scares me a little._

Van still had a little more to say. 'I've been thinking about it so hard, and this must be why I got so nervous with her, that deep down I knew I was doing the wrong thing, being disloyal to you. It was my conscience stopping me. I've figured out the truth and I won't fool myself any more.' He looked rather relieved now, as though a weight had fallen from him with the confession. He crossed over to the bed and sat down on the end of it, relaxing a little. Underneath, Chesta stared at the portion of Van's legs that he could see, hanging with the feet not touching the ground, because it was a rather high bed, and found himself possessed by a slightly hysterical need to laugh. With great presence of mind, he put a couple of folds of his nightshirt sleeve in his mouth and bit down.

Folken steepled his fingers together and rested his chin on them while he thought. It went against the grain to try to reprogram Van's thinking again. It might also be ineffective, since the initial set of principles was obviously so deeply entrenched - besides this hero-worship that he had never intended. He had just wanted Van to love and trust him, as he had when they were younger. He had never meant it to interfere with him forming attachments to other people. In any case, when Van had obviously gone through so much mental turmoil coming to this conclusion, and had made up his mind to self-sacrifice, telling him it was all unnecessary would feel like rejection to him. It might damage that trust. Better to accept the sacrifice and make the best of the situation.

'If that's how you feel, then of course that's what you must do,' he said. 'I'm very sorry to have unthinkingly placed you in a difficult situation. And I must say I am very thankful to have such a loyal and dutiful brother.' He smiled at Van, giving his blessing.

'You're not angry?' Van asked. 'Or disappointed in me?'

'Not at all. I'm only sorry, as I said, that you should have had such a hard time of it. I hope you'll sleep better tonight for having got all this off your chest.'

'Oh, I'm sure I will,' said Van with some confidence. 'Thank you, brother. I feel so much better now I've told you. I'd better get to bed now, hadn't I? I'll probably have trouble getting up in the morning.' He gave a self-deprecating little half-smile.

'Good night, then,' said Folken. 'Pleasant dreams.'

'Good night,' said Van, rising to go, 'and you too - pleasant dreams, I mean.' He paused for a moment, as though trying to decide something, and then said, a little shyly, 'I love you.'

'I love you too.' Folken's heart reproached him when he saw how Van's smile grew at those words. How long since he had been told someone loved him? Van left, sliding the door closed behind him, and Folken waited motionless until he heard the outer door close too.

In his hiding place, Chesta breathed a little easier. After a moment he heard Folken move above him, making the slats of the bedstead creak, and then his head came into view upside down, over the side of the bed.

'How scandalous,' he said, making a weak attempt at humour to mask how scared he had been. 'There's a boy under my bed.'

'Is it safe to crawl out?' Chesta asked. 'I'm freezing under here.'

'Then come and be warmed up.'

Chesta joined him on the bed, shedding dust-balls from his hair, the covers were pulled up, and deep, slow kissing followed. Folken was feeling a sort of after-rush as a result of having escaped from a dicey situation, and found Chesta's pace a little slower than he would have liked.

'Look at this thing,' he murmured, guiding Chesta's hand to feel rather than to see, 'the whole time I was talking to him, scared out of my wits, it wouldn't go down. It's got no sense of shame.' He pushed Chesta's chilly hand up and down over warm skin, working up heat and pleasure from friction.

'Either mine has a conscience or it was just too cold under there. I've gone off the boil. You've got to be patient while I warm up again,' Chesta replied. 'Although if you think yours is so bad I guess I could beat it for you.'

'But I'm meant to be treating _you_ tonight,' Folken protested, with absolutely no show of resistance. After his success in deception, and defusing of the situation, it seemed like a fitting reward. He was not about to stand on principle.

'Hang on a moment. Who's Celena, anyway?' Chesta grew suddenly thoughtful, and his moving hand slowed.

'No-one important. Please don't stop. Do what you did this morning. I've been wanting another dose of that all day.'

'If she's not important, why's Van-sama so upset about her?' The hand was still now, and its grip loosening.

'How can you ask questions like that at a time like this?' Folken asked hopelessly. He felt he was losing, and just when he had been so happy in the moment.

'I told you I'd gone off the boil.'

'And you call yourself a fifteen-year-old. You're supposed to be at your sexual peak, you know.' Folken tried to distract him with more kisses, and for the first time found him a little unresponsive. He drew back and found Chesta frowning, although on Chesta it was a fairly weak frown.

'Why don't you want to tell me?'

'Because it really isn't important. You don't need to know. For you, it's completely useless information. I could tell you and you would say "uh-huh" and forget it in two minutes.'

'You could let me be the judge of that,' Chesta persisted.

'Who's ten years older than you, not to mention your commanding officer?' Folken asked a touch peevishly. 'How about trusting _my_ judgement?' He regretted pulling rank almost immediately. Chesta looked so hurt that he felt wretchedly guilty. He rolled over and turned his back to Folken; not in the way that was an invitation, either.

'I'm sorry,' Folken said quickly. 'I didn't really mean that. It was a stupid, nasty thing to say. Please ignore it.' Chesta was silent. _Oh God. We're having a fight. Why do I always have to ruin things? Why can't I get anything except machines right?_

'Please don't ignore _me_. I'm sorry. Just look at me, Chesta, look in my eyes and you'll see I mean it.'

'If I look at you,' Chesta said, slightly muffled by the quilt he had dragged up around his chin, 'I'll only forgive you. You know perfectly well I can't say no if I'm looking you in the eye.'

That didn't sound like someone who had hardened his heart against his love. Experimentally, Folken raised himself on one arm and leaned over, looking at Chesta upside-down again. Chesta put one hand over his eyes. It was such a silly gesture that it brought back all Folken's confidence.

'Come on,' he whispered, gently prising away the fingers one by one, 'just look at me… see how much I want you… see how much I want to please you… open those pretty eyes and see a fool.'

Grudgingly, Chesta opened his eyes and looked at Folken gravely. 'I can't see one,' he said. Folken kissed him gratefully and pulled the boy back towards him in a hug.

'Let me make your blood boil,' he whispered, nuzzling into the side of Chesta's neck.

'Yes…' Chesta arched towards him, the unconscious, forgiving grace of his young body making Folken feel overgrown, brutish and clumsy. He was ashamed of himself; not that that was anything new. There were different flavours and strengths of shame, that was all; he was tasting a fresh one. It was not just what he had done, it was what he knew he was about to do. He drew back and stroked Chesta's hair while he spoke.

'To answer your question, so we can proceed with a clear conscience, Celena is a girl who happened to come under my protection. She's an orphan with amnesia. She's your age, actually. Van has been spending time with her to try and rehabilitate her. It was a little pet project of mine. Well, you heard the rest of it from him, unless you were too polite to listen. I guess it won't work out the way I had hoped, but it's no great loss. That really wasn't very interesting, was it?' _Well, there I go. I just did to Chesta what I do to Van. Surface truth, acceptable truth, enough to make sure he asks no more questions. If I gave him the truth I would lose him forever, and I can't bear that thought. Or I might order him to stay, and he would do it against his will, suffering without complaining, despising me in his heart, and I can bear that thought even less. I really am a coward._

Chesta looked thoughtful. 'I have to admit that it isn't fascinating. But it _is_ interesting to know one more thing about you that I didn't before. I know two more things, really; I know you do kind things for orphans and you're a very nice older brother.'

'I'm a machiavellian older brother,' Folken said wryly. 'I try to set things up for him. I'm devious and wily. The word is _éminence gris_.' He seemed to be trying to confess sideways, admitting his sins against one boy to the other.

'Oh, it's for his own good really,' said Chesta blithely. 'He should trust your judgement like I do. I mean, _I_ know you wouldn't do anything really bad. You just want what's best for everyone in the end.'

'Since when do you trust my judgement?'

'Since just now when you told me to. You _know_ I obey orders, Folken-sama.' He was smiling now, teasing.

'I order you not to call me that in private.'

'Then you'll have to stop being all masterful and awe-inspiring and making me _want_ to call you that. I can't help myself.'

'I don't _really_ inspire you with awe, do I?' Folken asked, perplexed.

'You know perfectly well you do,' Chesta said, with an exaggerated glance downward.

'No, look, take me seriously.'

'Take me. Seriously.'

'You're getting silly, Chesta… don't make me growl at you…'

'I would rather have a growl from you than a - a _poem_ from anyone else,' Chesta said seriously, although there was still a wicked light in his eyes.

'That's good. You'll never be disappointed.' Folken kissed him softly. He was beginning to think he had better resign himself to patience and a good deal of talking tonight. It was only fair, he supposed; Chesta was not just an enjoyable body. It was still frustrating, when he wanted the comfort of losing himself in that body.

'What were you going to do to me when we were so rudely interrupted?' Chesta whispered.

'Ah… well… I would have continued my attention to _this_ area…' Folken slipped his good hand down to wrap around his lover's reviving erection, while he continued to kiss the boy's neck and shoulders.

'One of the things I find very surprising, and very sweet about you,' Chesta said, closing his eyes, 'is how shy you are about putting names on things. It's my cock, Folken-sama, it's all right to call it that.'

'Vulgar word,' Folken murmured between kisses. He always had to hold back in this; Chesta did not have the luxury of a private shower and any unusual marks on his body would almost certainly be noticed. He had a rather futile little fantasy about giving him a perfectly symmetrical collar of love-bites. _A collar for my pet. To show he belongs to me._ As it was, he wasn't sure he could risk biting a nipple, tempting as it was. He doubted he would ever again eat raspberries and cream without thinking of Chesta in a very specific way.

'All the _non_ -vulgar words sound stupid… _manhood?_ Honestly… I think the most _poetical_ one I ever read was "his velvet hardness." Sounds a bit like a royal title.' Chesta's words were interspersed by little throaty sighs, almost purrs, of pleasure, but he did not seem prepared to stop talking. 'You were born a prince, right? Want me to call you Your Velvet Hardness?'

'Worse than Folken-sama.' Releasing his grip on the so-called 'velvet hardness,' Folken gently walked his fingers down, parting Chesta's suddenly tense buttocks and softly probing his way in to a tight, warm, deeply private passage. One fingertip… two… _push_ …

Chesta caught his breath sharply. 'Oh God,' he whispered, his volubility deserting him, 'oh God…' He tightened his grip on Folken's shoulders, digging in his close-trimmed nails.

'Good?'

'Yes…'

'And like this?'

' _Yes_ …'

'Do you want more?'

'Yes!'

'Come on, then… what do you call it, the "hook"…'

Chesta was given to putting names to positions too, conveniently and concisely labelling experiences he was not sure he could fully describe even if he talked for hours. The 'hook' meant his legs raised and spread, his hips tilted up, his legs hooked over Folken's shoulders; it meant Folken firmly holding his hips, one hand hot and sweating, the other cold and hard, fighting not to dig his claws in; it meant Folken sinking in with a long groan of joy and his full, overwhelming, wonderful weight coming to rest on Chesta's body. It meant taking in more than he thought he could bear and then wishing he could take more; it meant feeling so full inside that he thought when Folken came he would taste it; it meant deep thrilling pressure and friction in places he had never touched, sometimes a thin rim of pain around the edge of ecstasy. His voice rose and ran on almost incoherently, the higher part of a rhythmic duet, counterpointed by the deep, breathless grunts and low, hoarse cries he could feel as well as hear rising in Folken's chest and belly. For accompaniment they had the plaintive creak of the bedstead and the tapping of the headboard against the wall, gradually accelerating and increasing to a full-bodied thumping.

Pumping, straining, the fingers of his good hand clenched into a knot with the sheets, the claws of the other hand doing irreparable damage to the mattress (at least it wasn't Chesta's defenseless skin), Folken found himself once again fixated on one image before him, this time on Chesta's face, on the feverish bloom on his cheeks, the glisten of sweat on his upper lip, on his pink, panting mouth whimpering Folken's name. He was consumed by what he felt, aware of nothing else. His eyes were tightly closed, blond brows drawn tremulously together, wet lashes flickering against his cheeks. _I have made him like this. I am the first and only to see this face, this beauty._ For some reason, at this most inappropriate of moments, Folken remembered his mother telling a much younger version of him that when you cut open an apple, you are the first in the world to see what it looks like inside. _I've opened a boy… I'm seeing his heart._ With that thought he broke through into blissful oblivion.

 

Afterwards, Chesta clearly wanted to sleep, but Folken now found himself unable to stop talking. He would make an honest effort to shut up but then he would think of another thing he simply must say, Chesta would make a drowsy effort to answer and the peace would be broken again. The problem was that he was feeling excessively happy and grateful and kept wanting to express it.

'You realise, don't you,' he said, trying to snuggle closer, 'that no-one has ever made me feel the way you do?'

'You too,' said Chesta, without opening his eyes. 'You're wonderful.'

'I don't just mean the physical things. Although those are very special. And certainly new to me.' He paused, thinking. 'Did you make up that hook thing yourself, or is it out of a book or something?'

Chesta opened one eye to peep at him skeptically. 'Are you kidding? Of course it's out of a book. I couldn't make something like that _up_. Why'd you think that?'

'I don't know,' Folken protested, slightly embarrassed. 'You're the one with all the specialist knowledge.'

'You're the one with the _experience_.' He gave Folken's arm a little squeeze and rubbed his smooth cheek against his shoulder, sounding amused, and as though he expected this to be the end of it.

'No I'm not.'

Chesta opened both eyes and raised his head from Folken's shoulder to stare at him. 'I know you have a bit of a peculiar sense of humour,' he said, 'but this seems obscure even for you.'

'It isn't a joke. I didn't know you thought I was experienced. Don't look at me like that.' Chesta's incredulous gaze was making him feel extremely foolish. The revelation seemed to have woken him right up, and now he would not leave the subject alone.

'You're _twenty-five_.'

'What does that have to do with it?'

'Well, I thought - I assumed…' Chesta trailed off. 'Then how do you know what to do?'

'You always _tell_ me what you want me to do. I - I know in _general_ terms what people do, of course… and you made it easy for me… I thought that was _why_.' He stopped in confusion. 'I thought it must be fairly obvious about me.'

'Nothing is obvious about you. You're the most mysterious person I know,' Chesta said, shaking his head.

'I suppose I'm flattered that you couldn't tell,' Folken said uncertainly. 'I'm _not_ flattered by the way you said "you're _twenty-five_ ".'

'Twenty-five is _old_ to be a virgin,' said Chesta, with all the implicit disapproval of a debauched fifteen. Suddenly he grinned. 'Think of that, I popped your cherry. Can I say that?'

'No, it sounds dreadful.'

'But it works both ways, you popped mine.'

'I _popped_ nothing.' Folken relaxed a little. 'At least it doesn't turn out _you've_ had years of experience.'

'Wouldn't you like that?'

'No… I like knowing I'm the only man who's ever made love to you.' He traced the shape of Chesta's chin with his fingers. 'That I'm the only one who's ever been allowed to enjoy all this.'

'You are.' Chesta frowned. 'Why, though? I mean, why did you wait so long? You could have had anyone you wanted, I'm sure.'

'Perhaps, if I ordered them as I did you.'

' _No_. You could just have asked nicely. That would have worked on me too.'

'It's immaterial anyway. I never wanted anyone before you.'

'You're saying that to flatter me.' Chesta looked a little disappointed, as though he considered this unworthy of Folken.

'I am not. You woke something in me that I didn't even realise was sleeping. I didn't know it was alive in the first place. I assumed it was stillborn.' Folken grew irritated with his rather cumbersome metaphor and abandoned it. 'I only wanted to tell you what I said at the beginning. No-one but you has made me feel this way. No-one but you has been so precious to me. I want there to be no doubt in your mind whatsoever as to that. To me, that’s what makes it so special, that this is a first for both of us. It feels sacred.'

Chesta still looked dubious. 'Do you think sex _can_ be sacred? Especially this kind.'

'Well, don't you like paradoxes? That it can be sacred and dirty at the same time?'

Chesta lowered his head wearily. 'It's too late at night for me to think about this kind of thing. Please, Folken-sama, you wear me out. Just let me go to sleep for a little while. In the morning I'll do whatever you want. Talk or anything.'

'I'm sorry,' said Folken. He felt he had been idiotic. It seemed as though Chesta had not read nearly as much into their relationship as he had. That made him feel panicky, as though what he was depending on might be built on a false foundation and could collapse at any moment. Did he really just see it as first sex, not first love? Folken did not want to ask. Every now and then Chesta would say something that worried him, that made the boy seem shallow somehow. Perhaps that was what you got for falling in love with a fifteen-year-old. His body might be at its best but his heart, presumably, still had a lot of growing up to do. Folken gazed down at the tousled head resting on his shoulder and felt that sleep would not come easily to him tonight.

'Folken?' Chesta murmured drowsily.

'Yes?'

'Van-sama said you said you didn't have time for women.'

'Well, I didn't. I've had a very busy life.' _And for most of it I didn’t even realise boys were an option. Not that it would have made a difference._

'You have time for _me_ , though. Even with everything else you do. You've got to be even busier now than you were for years before this.'

'Of course I have time for you. I _make_ time for you.'

'Then I know I really _am_ precious to you,' Chesta said, nuzzling against his neck for a moment, 'and I'm _so_ glad.'

And every now and then, the boy said something beautiful.

 

Rest period in the Dragonslayers' dorm was an uneasy time these days; certainly not restful. People kept glancing at the red-curtained bed and trying to look as though they were not doing so, because after all Van-sama was there; he always stayed with them during recreation time, albeit rather grimly. It was generally felt that he did it to keep an eye on them rather than out of any enjoyment of their company or willingness to unbend, and therefore it was resented. The only person who seemed reasonably well-disposed towards him, above and beyond the call of duty, so to speak, was Chesta, although he took care not to overdo it lest he get a reputation as a brown-nose.

Everyone was quietly occupied just now; the perennial card game was in progress around Gatti's bed, although the players did not seem very lively. Their spirits were perhaps dampened by the fact that Van was a participant, and kept winning. They never played for real money, but the pile of tokens in front of Van was getting quite high.

Chesta was writing his weekly letter to his uncle, his only surviving relative. His parents had died within a few months of each other when he was nine, and going to live in his elderly bachelor uncle's house, he had had a childhood in which all his material needs were met, but no-one paid much attention to him in particular. He had achieved quietly and steadily at a high level in school, being selected for the nationwide top academic and athletic stream from which all the Dragonslayers had been recruited some years ago. Some of the boys had come from the same schools as each other, although most were meeting the others for the first time. It was the only bit of background they all had in common, including, they had always assumed, Dilandau-sama. He never said anything to the contrary because of course it went without saying.

Uncle Jerse had seemed quite satisfied with Chesta's placement. To term his reaction _proud_ would have been overstating it, but he appeared to feel his nephew was behaving as he should. Chesta did not object to this. He and his uncle had always respected one another's privacy, their relationship being civil rather than affectionate. As long as he wrote once a week, his responsibilities were discharged and he could get on with his own life. If he had sometimes envied those of the other boys who received long letters from loving family members… well, now he had a secret better than any of that. He paused in his writing just for a moment, to think of his secret and let the warmth of it spread a little. The day was more than half over and he was well into the countdown to the time when he would be able to slip from his bed and make his way to Folken's room. He looked around the dorm at the others and felt a delightful sense of privilege.

'Read them,' said Van momentously, 'and feel free to weep.' He fanned out his cards on Gatti's bedspread and cocked an eyebrow at Biore, who was the only other person still in the game.

'Damn,' said Biore, and threw down his own, much weaker hand. A card bumped against the pile of tokens and sent them spilling everywhere, over the bed and onto the floor, where they skittered off in all directions. Van looked disgusted.

'Talk about a poor loser,' he said. 'Was there any need for that display?'

'That wasn't on purpose,' Biore said quickly. 'Sorry, Van-sama.' He dropped to the floor and started picking up counters on all fours. It was remarkable how far they rolled; he had to go under several beds, to the annoyance or amusement of people sitting on them. The last ones had gotten under Chesta's bed. Biore was under there longer than he had been under the others. When he came backing out on his knees, he had a coverless paperback open in his hand. Chesta glanced up, saw it, and froze.

'You'll never believe what I found,' Biore said to the room at large. 'Take a look at this book I found under Chesta's bed, it's pure filth!'

'Filth! Where?' Migel asked, laughing at Biore's enjoyably-scandalised tone. 'Why wasn't I informed, in my capacity as Smut Inspector? Give us a look.'

'It's _dreadful_ ,' Biore went on, batting Migel's reaching hand away and half-turning to keep skim-reading. 'Goings-on in a boys' boarding school. Everyone in and out of each other's beds after lights out. A _very_ dubious head prefect. Good Lord! There's an illustration here. Look at that!'

'That's _disgusting_ ,' said Guimel, looking over his shoulder. 'Whose could it be? Did you say it was under _Chesta's_ bed?'

'I've never seen that book before in my life!' Chesta lied frantically, colouring up to the hairline. He had thought it was secure under his mattress, but it must have slipped out between the slats of the bedstead.

'Oh, don't worry, Chess, of course no-one thinks it belongs to _you_ ,' said Biore cheerfully. Chesta felt oddly snubbed. Of course, it was wonderful not to be suspected, but being considered incapable of the crime seemed somehow a bit insulting. The rest of his secret smutty books were at the bottom of his foot-locker. He made a swift resolution to take them with him to Folken's room tonight, and ask if they could stay there for safe-keeping.

'Where did it come from, though?' asked Gatti. 'Come on, own up, whoever you are! If there's an arse-bandit in this dorm we've all got a right to know.' He was joking really. The discovery of the book struck him as more of a good laugh than anything else, but his words had an unintended effect; people suddenly looked apprehensive, as it occurred to them that whoever it was, they must have been changing and showering with him for months. It was unnerving to think you had been seen naked by the owner of a well-thumbed bit of schoolboy erotica.

'Don't be stupid,' said Dalet sharply. 'No-one here would own a book like that. You know what I bet it is? This wasn't always our dormitory. It probably belongs to someone who used to be billetted here. We've never had the beds out from the walls, so it could have been hidden wedged down behind the headboard or something. He just forgot it when they left and eventually it slid out. Mystery solved.'

'Poor Chesta, getting stuck with the pervert's bed!'

'Check under the floorboards, there could be more!'

Everyone was gathered round by now, ready to make a joke of it and get a look at the offensive material if they could.

'I'll take that, thank you very much,' said Van, twitching the book out of Biore's hands and slapping it closed between his palms.

Biore stared at him, nonplussed. 'What for?' he asked.

'I'm confiscating it, you nitwit,' Van said. 'However fascinated _you_ seem to be by it, I can assure you that this isn't my choice in reading material. This type of thing has no place in a barracks. I may have to inform the Strategos.'

'There's no need for that, surely,' Chesta said feebly. He knew he did not have anything to worry about on that front; blame could not be attached to him and Folken would not mind anyway. Appearing to worry was just a good disguise. He kept having to remind himself to behave as though he were intimidated by Van, too, although that could not have been further from the truth. After what he had overheard last night he even felt rather sorry for him, in a way. If he had not been so hateful to Dilandau-sama he would be an almost pathetic figure to Chesta.

'I'll be the judge of that,' said Van, shooting him a nasty look. He wished, once more, that Chesta hadn't gone to Folken. For one thing, although Van had never forbidden it, it felt like going over his head. It seemed to have given Chesta an improperly high opinion of himself; he was less timid than he had been. Even though he was obviously finding the current situation stressful - he often looked tired, and tended to have dark shadows under his eyes in the mornings - he seemed to have some internal source of self-esteem which meant he cared less what Van thought of him. He probably imagined he had been taken into some privileged confidence. Folken would have said the same to anyone who went and asked him. He would certainly have told the truth to Van. Look at how reasonable he was about the confession last night. He trusted Van absolutely, and there were no secrets between them.

Van was not sure why he needed to _tell_ himself these things nowadays. He already knew them. Perhaps it was simply that repetition was comforting. He had thought his headaches would go away once he had Celena off his conscience, but there was a fresh one gently building at the back of his head. He decided to take a rest in his own quarters before dinner, and see if that made him feel better. He couldn't take anything for it; he had had his meds at lunchtime and Folken had warned him that the dosage would be messed up if he took any more before dinner. Using painkillers at the same time might have unpleasant side-effects.

After he took his meds he always felt better for a while; they seemed to lift his mood and reduce his anxiety. He was not sure exactly what they were; they had such amazing medicine in Zaibach, illnesses that were considered major and alarming in Fanelia only meant a few days off work and some mild discomfort here. They seemed more like magic than medicine. He knew he had been very ill and only Folken's treatment had saved him. He must have been extremely sick, because his memory of that time was so hazy. It was always like that when you tried to recall events from when you were feverish. It seemed to him he had had bizarre dreams, something about fighting an older man who always humiliated him.

He flipped the dirty book at the wastepaper basket under his desk before he lay down. It bounced off the rim and fell on the floor beside the bed. Van sighed and covered his eyes. Well, if Folken thought it was all right to leave things lying around, he supposed it didn't really matter. Things were going to be all right now. If only he had something to _do_ , something to focus on. The way things were, he almost missed Dilandau.

 

General Adelfos sat and sipped water while the young Strategos reviewed the reports he had brought to their meeting. He was trying to drink more of it these days; he had not been feeling quite right for a while and he thought he had read somewhere that lots of water was good for your system. It wasn't so much a definite physical complaint as a general feeling of malaise.

He watched Folken over the rim of his glass. Of course he respected him; having seen the results his inventions and strategies got, he would have been either a fool or extraordinarily pig-headed not to. But there were still times when he stepped back in his mind and said to himself, _here I am, a veteran, a career soldier who put aside family and all private hopes for the military, and I take orders from a twenty-five-year-old with so much stuff on his hair that it probably wouldn't move if he were in a hurricane._ He had never quite made up his mind whether or not Folken wore makeup but in his darker moments he suspected it. _That's the new Zaibach for you, I suppose._ It had all changed so much in the past few years. He didn't know the details of it, they were very secretive in Forward Planning, but he had the impression that if this young man hadn't come over to their side, with his head full of ideas under all that hair gunk (although he seemed to have given it a rest today), they would not be making their move so soon. It could have taken many years more to get to the stage where they were ready. Adelfos might have served out his time and died before the banner of Zaibach was raised over the nations of the world. Perhaps it would have been better so.

It worried him that he was thinking that way, but now that they were actually moving to claim their bright destiny, after a lifetime of service to the ideal, he was starting to question… not the end, but the means. It was foolish, he was a soldier, invasion and war were second nature to him, but he could not shake the feeling that the way they were proceeding now was less than honourable. _Come on now_ , he would say to himself sternly, _are you such a reactionary bleeding heart that you would give up the advantage of, say, stealth cloaks? That's a brilliant piece of technology. It would be foolish not to use it. It would be ungrateful. It's a gift from God._

And then he found himself wondering why God would want to give people a gift like that. Weren't things like that more normally _stolen_ from God, taken without His permission? Didn't a judgement usually follow? On the last day, did he want to stand up and say 'I helped do this'?

General Adelfos knew that he was not a deep thinker. He knew he was simply a good soldier who had always worked hard, never asked more of his men than he was prepared to give himself, and did his duty as best he could. Wiser heads than his, somewhere, had this all figured out. He carefully put his doubts away at the back of his mind and did his best, as he always had.

'Very satisfactory,' said Folken, closing the cover of the dossier. 'I didn't expect Allen Schezar to get anywhere with the Duke by himself. No matter what he does there will always be distrust on the most basic level. The girl from the Mystic Moon… well, she's still something of an unknown quantity, but she's becoming isolated and much less likely to take a leading role.'

Adelfos also didn't quite like the way the Strategos always brought it down to individual personalities. He preferred to think of it as more impersonal. You had to form those habits of thought. It didn't do your sleep patterns any good to remember that every man you had killed was someone's son, a person with thoughts and hopes and endearing little quirks and all the rest of it. The General felt that history happened because of the united and purposeful movements of _many_ people. One person could not make a difference in the way that romantics thought.

'Are the reports from your agents the same?' he asked. There was no answer. He had not really expected one. Everyone knew, or suspected, that the Strategos had his own intelligence network operating independently of the usual military spies. You never heard about them, unless you counted the times when he would suddenly cite a startling piece of critical information, which no-one could work out how he had discovered.

'I've been wondering,' he continued, 'whether you intend to deploy the Dragonslayers in Freid, if it comes to a fight. Of course, my men are more than capable, in my opinion. But you've been keeping them back so long people have been speculating that there is something wrong.'

'Well, their primary objective was, of course, to capture the Dragon. With that achieved, I believe we can afford to hold them in reserve for a time. The more experience our enemies have of fighting them, the less advantage our technology will give us. We've had proof that the stealth cloaks do _not_ give perfect concealment in all circumstances. If we keep them unfamiliar they will be more effective when we do use them.'

'I heard their captain was invalided out,' Adelfos said, frowning. 'That little… maverick Dilandau Albatou. What's the story?'

'Dilandau is quite all right. He's almost recovered from his illness and I expect him to rejoin his unit in a couple of days. But you are right, his absence was a contributing factor. He is very important to the morale of the whole unit and they fight better under his leadership.'

'Your brother not getting on so well?'

'My brother is getting on fine, thank you.' He did not sound offended. It was more or less impossible to get a rise out of Folken Fanel.

'Shame to play our best cards too soon, I suppose,' Adelfos said, making an attempt at conciliation.

'Quite.' Folken watched him narrowly. He could see the doubt in General Adelfos, could see it eating at his mind like a sickly grey worm. He could also see the years of iron conditioning that would prevent him ever acting upon it. He wondered if the General would be amused or just saddened to know how alike he and Folken really were.

All the reasons he had given him for keeping the Dragonslayers grounded were quite true. There was no need to go into the fact that, as the unit included both his brother and his lover, he could hardly bear the thought of sending them out to fight and possibly die. The idea of Chesta getting hurt made him feel almost physically sick.

He rebuked himself for that very harshly. _How can you have such a double standard? Is it fair to Nariya and Eriya? You love them too, but you would let them go._

 _It's different with Nariya and Eriya. They're different._

 _They're people too. You've lived with them too long to buy that propaganda about beastpeople not feeling or thinking as deeply as full-blooded humans._

 _They're older and more able to take care of themselves._

 _Van has been taking care of himself for years. They are all independent. I just like to feel that they all need me._

 _Which side am I arguing now? I don't know any more._

The problem was that when he really thought about that double standard, he was coming to realise that he could not send Nariya and Eriya on a suicide mission with a clear conscience either. He could not persuade himself that the plan was really worth more than their two small lives. Was it because Chesta had woken more in him than he had thought? Was it because having Van with him changed his perspective on everything?

But like Adelfos, he had been believing in the dream for so long that it had become habitual, ingrained. He could not make the break, could not convince himself that there was a better, a _feasible_ alternative. He kept hoping that he could have it both ways. After all, if the plan brought everyone what they most wanted, the people he loved would _have_ to be all right. It wasn't simply because he couldn't be happy without them (whether he deserved to or not), but what was the point of the plan if it didn't result in happiness for people like that? He was _doing_ it for Nariya and Eriya. For Van, for Chesta, for all the people he didn't want to end up like him.


	8. Back

After an arduous sword drill session, the Dragonslayers filed into the changing rooms to shower the sweat off before lunch. It had not been an unusually bad morning, but it had felt pointless. There were rumours going around that the war was nearly over, that there were complications meaning the war would have to go on a lot longer, that the Dragonslayers would have to scramble at a moment's notice, that the Dragonslayers were to be demobilised as redundant, that they had all been used as subjects in an experiment which was over now (or just beginning, depending on which version you heard), that there was bromide in the mess-hall food, that there were two amazing-looking catwomen on board training in secret, that Lord Dornkirk was coming to inspect them in person, that Lord Dornkirk had died and the top brass were pretending he was still alive so things wouldn't fall apart… all the rumours really proved was that no-one knew quite what was going on and everyone was feeling restless and worried.

With warm water beating down on top of his head, Chesta wanted to lean his forehead against the tiled wall in front of him and go to sleep forever. It was getting up so early to slip back to the dormitory that was so hard. Sometimes once he was back in his bed, with a little time to spare, he would fall into a doze and then be woken by the rising-bell to find that he had slept just long enough to make it hard to wake up again, and not enough to feel at all refreshed. There was no way around it; the only time he could go to see Folken without being noticed was in the dead of night, and he would never want to give that up, but he was becoming exhausted and there seemed to be no respite in sight. Maybe when the war was over it would be different. Folken would surely be richly rewarded for all the good work he had done. Drifting into fantasy, Chesta decided that Folken would ask him to come and live with him in a bluestone palace in the mountains. If they needed a cover story, they could say that Folken was training him as a sorcerer. _He trusts me with his magic wand already_ , he thought with a smirk at his own bad joke. In the palace would be a huge bed with a mattress filled daily with fresh white rosepetals. They would lie down in this bed together, in a warm heaven of perfume, and sleep for a full week, dreaming the same dreams, and then wake up to live happily ever after.

Someone snapped a damp towel at his backside. He yelped and looked round wildly, startled by how close he had come to really drifting off.

'You're taking too long,' Migel called out, winding up the towel for another whip-crack. 'Let someone else rinse off! There's fifteen of us and only five showerheads.'

'Sorry,' said Chesta, in confusion, wiping the water from his eyes. He gave up his place to Migel and found his own towel on the bench opposite the lockers. While he was drying his hair his eye fell on the red locker, untouched for so many days. He found himself wondering whether Dilandau would ever come back; whether one day the locker and the curtained bed would simply be removed because there was no point pretending any longer. He wanted to ask Folken, but he didn't want to risk another fight. It would be so easy for Folken to drop him if he displeased him too much, and anyway he did not want Folken to think he didn't trust him to tell him if there was something he ought to know.

When his hair was more or less dry, and sticking out in every direction, he turned to towelling off his body. He found himself surreptitiously glancing around at the other boys now, testing whether it made him feel the same way to look at them as it did to see Folken-sama. He had always _liked_ the look of boys' bodies, but a grown man's was much more appealing. Besides, he had never felt particularly attracted to any of the other boys in this group. Probably he saw too much of them, in every way, to be able to think of them romantically. The possible exception was Dilandau-sama, except that he was far too deeply in awe of him to even fantasise that he might find someone like _Chesta_ attractive. It had never occurred to him to think of him in that way. Dilandau-sama was out of _everyone's_ league. Well, no, possibly someone like Folken-sama might aspire to his favours. He felt jealous just at the thought of that. He comforted himself again with the thought that _he_ was the one Folken had chosen, for whatever reason.

One of the toilets flushed and everyone under the showers leapt back squalling; it was an inherent flaw of the plumbing system that if anyone flushed a toilet the showers all ran scalding hot for a minute, and so there was a general understanding that anyone wanting to go to the toilet should wait until there was no one showering. Not to observe this courtesy was more or less asking for a fight.

'Who did that!?' Migel cried. 'Come out and face the music!'

A stall door swung open and Dilandau walked out, doing up his belt, with his jacket slung over his arm. He looked around calmly at all of them.

'What?' he said casually, as though it was strange that they should stare. He went over to a washbasin and washed his hands.

'Towel,' he said, holding them up, dripping.

No-one had any idea now whose turn it was for that job. Dalet, who had just stepped out from under the shower, was the closest person with a dry towel. After a brief double-take, he stepped forward and offered it to Dilandau, who dried his hands and dropped the towel on the wet floor. He pulled on his jacket. Everyone watched him as if they thought he might vanish in a puff of smoke, which was almost the case.

' _What?_ ' he said again, looking around the room. 'Do I have something on my face?'

'Uh, no, nothing,' said Dalet. Dilandau's head turned back towards him for a moment and he looked at him a little blankly. Then the garnet eyes narrowed. Dilandau's hand shot out and shoved Dalet in the chest hard enough to knock the breath out of him. Since he was standing with bare feet on a wet tile floor, it was also enough to knock him off his feet. He fell with a loud thud and slap of skin on ceramic. No-one dared to make any other sound.

'I hate people lying to make me feel better,' Dilandau said. 'Go on and stare now, and never again. After this moment, if I catch _anyone_ looking at my scar, or talking about my scar, or for that matter looking as if they're thinking about my scar, there will be trouble.' He turned his right cheek towards his audience, daring them to comment.

It really wasn't that much of a scar. It was hardly even red any more. The greatest change it had made to his appearance was that the corner of his right eye seemed to sag a little, as though the nerves or muscles connected to the eyelid had been damaged. No-one knew how to react.

'Dilandau-sama,' said Chesta, prompted to boldness by the overwhelming happiness he felt, 'no-one cares about your scar. We're all just so glad to have you back with us!' He thought his face would split from smiling. No wonder Folken had not told him about this last night. He had wanted it to be a wonderful surprise.

'You don't care,' said Dilandau flatly, challengingly, throwing his words back at him.

'I mean it doesn’t make any difference to us. It couldn't. And I can hardly see it anyway. You look great.'

Dilandau stalked closer to Chesta, his arms folded. Chesta waited, apprehensive but hopeful. He tried not to make any annoying waffling gestures like hitching at the towel around his waist or biting his lip. It always annoyed Dilandau-sama if Chesta couldn't keep still while he was talking to him. Of course it could also annoy Dilandau-sama not to react to him enough.

'What is _that?_ ' said Dilandau, pointing at Chesta's ear. His tone suggested that there was a centipede crawling on it, or something equally distasteful.

Chesta tried to look at his own ear for a moment before regaining his composure. 'It's - it's an earring, Dilandau-sama.'

'You're wearing… an earring,' Dilandau said slowly. 'That rhymes. Why are you wearing an earring, Chesta? If that's not too outlandish a question.'

'I didn't know you had an _earring_ ,' said Migel, staring over Dilandau's shoulder.

'He _hasn't_ got an earring,' said Biore. 'Has he?'

'What, _Chesta?_ '

'Dilandau-sama says he has.'

'Let me see?'

They all crowded up behind Dilandau. Thirty eyes stared at Chesta and his new earring. One eye twitched slightly at the corner. Chesta prayed to be struck by lightning or vanish into a deep hole.

'Since _when?_ ' asked Gatti. 'I've never seen you wearing that!'

'Well, I've had it in all day,' Chesta said peevishly, stung into defending himself by their apparent disbelief. _Chesta_ couldn't possibly have an earring. _Chesta_ couldn't be the owner of a dirty book. Everyone knew what _Chesta_ was like, good old boring Chess; or thought they did. 'And the day before, and the day before that,' he invented. Post-dating his story might make it more convincing. 'You just never noticed. I was waiting to see how long before someone _looked_ at me properly and saw it. Of course Dilandau-sama did. The rest of you, are your eyes painted on?'

'What, _really?_ ' said Biore. 'Who did it for you?'

'I did it myself,' Chesta said. 'With a sterilised needle.'

'Why didn't you tell anyone?'

'I didn't want to _before_ I did it because I thought it might go wrong and you'd laugh at me if you knew. I got up in the night and did it in the bathroom. And then I thought I'd wait and see how long it took you to see what was right in front of you. I think it looks quite good,' he added defiantly. 'And there's nothing against it in the uniform regulations.'

Everyone stared again at the earring. It was a small, thin gold ring from which was suspended a tiny, finely-wrought golden dragon. It was so delicate it hardly had any weight at all, although it still pulled enough to make Chesta's earlobe decidedly sore and pink. Tonight, he knew, Folken-sama would kiss it better; would gently turn the ring and apply methylated spirits as you were supposed to to help it heal cleanly. He had never dreamed he would one day think of methylated spirits and kissing in the same context, but there you were.

 

They hadn't exactly intended this; it had come out of getting thoroughly drunk and silly together, the night before. Chesta had taken it into his head to make a great fuss about Folken's earrings and how wonderful he thought they looked. Folken had asked if he would like a pair of his own. He still had the thin gold rings from when his ears were first pierced. The story was true in some details. It had been done in the middle of the night in the bathroom: Folken's bathroom. The needle had been the claw on the tip of Folken's metal index finger. Doing the first ear had been so painful that Chesta had begged him to stop at one rather than trying for the pair. He realised now that this was the sort of thing that only seemed like a good idea when you were drunk. Neither of them had thought of the consequences in time.

Folken had apologised fervently as he worked the earring in and fastened it, Chesta wincing and straining not to flinch away from him. From then on, it had gotten a little weird. Chesta's eyes were watering, and when Folken saw this he thought he had made him cry and was guilt-stricken. He began to kiss away the tears, with increasingly passionate tenderness, and somehow Chesta had got the feeling that the whole thing was rather exciting for Folken. He had managed to squeeze out a few more, telling himself to be wimpish about the pain, and this got easier when Folken accidentally touched his earlobe, which hurt very much indeed. Chesta found Folken's response very encouraging, and played up to it; in the end he had cried fountains, sitting in Folken's lap, clutching at his shoulders, and the sex had been utterly superb, but when it was over and they had both calmed down a little Folken was guilt-stricken all over again at the idea that he was aroused by seeing Chesta weep.

'But I was only doing it because I could see you liked it,' Chesta protested. 'I wasn't really upset or hurt. And you knew _I_ liked it too, so what's the problem?'

'It's the principle of the thing,' Folken said miserably. 'What sort of thing is that to get excited about?' He was sitting in the shower recess, in only his shirt, refusing to let Chesta near him. Folken could behave very oddly when he was berating himself about something.

Chesta shrugged. 'Everyone has something they like,' he said. 'I like having my cock sucked, but I don't get _upset_ about it.' He was kneeling just outside the shower looking through the sliding glass door, feeling considerably out of his depth. His eyes felt dry and puffy and he would have liked an opportunity to rest. He really didn't see why this had to be such a drama.

'That isn't the same at all. This is _sick_.' Folken put his head in his hands. 'Bearing down on you when you're crying, being excited by your distress…' He struck his forehead angrily with the heels of his hands and raked his fingers through his hair.

'Is that how you felt about it?' Chesta asked, puzzled. '"Chesta's all upset, God that makes me hot"?'

' _No!_ Not in the moment… but when I think about it _afterwards_ , that's what it must really mean! What else could it be?'

'Do you know what _I_ think it was?' Chesta said softly. 'I was crying the first time we kissed. So when you see me cry you remember the first kiss. And that's why the tears have power over you.'

Folken looked up at him; there was still self-loathing in his eyes but the flicker of a wry smile on his face. 'You keep making me feel better about things when you really shouldn't,' he said.

'Well, you don’t think _I_ get any pleasure out of seeing you suffer, do you?' Chesta asked. 'Oh - look, I didn't mean it like that!' He was horrified at how tactless and accusatory that had sounded. But Folken actually gave a small laugh, and emerged from the shower recess. He gently took Chesta's tearstained face between his hands, and gazed at him for some time without speaking.

'I wish I hadn't done this to you,' he said at last. 'I've made you like me, spoiled you like me. I've disfigured your sweet little ear to no good purpose.'

'That isn't true,' Chesta said. 'I asked you to do it and I like it. One earring is more interesting anyway. It's asymmetric.'

'It's lopsided,' said Folken gloomily. 'Again like me.'

'So it will always remind me of you, and that way I'll treasure it.'

'That was a very left-handed compliment,' said Folken. He tilted Chesta's head to look at the newly-pierced ear. 'It doesn't look so bad now that it's stopped bleeding. Do you mind if I fiddle with it just once more? There's something I want to add. I bought it years ago because it caught my eye and could never work out what to do with it.'

'A dragon for my pet Dragonslayer,' he had said, watching Chesta twist to see the earring better in the mirror.

'You like decorating me really,' said Chesta. 'Will you give me a tattoo next, to match yours?'

'My God, no,' said Folken, embracing him. 'It would be an offense to good taste to tattoo skin like yours.' This reminded him of what he had imagined while talking to Van the previous night, and he told Chesta about it to lighten the mood. It amused Chesta so much that he went and got several different-coloured pens from Folken's desk and occupied himself while they composed his cover story by writing messages, labels and in one case a limerick over large areas of Folken's skin, perfectly safe since his day clothes hid everything. Overall, it had been a very strange night, if a good one for mutual decoration.

 

And now here he was with everyone staring at the first piece of visible physical evidence that he and Folken were intimately involved. It made his heart accelerate to a nervous patter, and the sensation was not altogether agreeable, but the fact was the story seemed to be working. That gave him a little bit of a rush, a sense of achievement.

'It's a dragon for a Dragonslayer,' he pointed out. Wouldn't they have to agree that that was pretty neat? It sounded so wonderful when Folken said it.

Dilandau unfolded his arms and reached out one hand, very deliberately. He put a finger behind the dragon, holding it steady so he could see it better.

'It's quite nice, isn't it, Dilandau-sama?' said Chesta hopefully. Dilandau-sama could be relied upon to appreciate beauty. He just hoped he wouldn't consider this excessive vanity or showing off on the part of a subordinate. Dilandau-sama could get very irritable about that sort of thing. For some reason, he heard a mental echo of Van-sama's voice: _They say we hate our own qualities most in others._

A petulant expression dawned on Dilandau's face. He closed finger and thumb on the golden dragon and abruptly yanked downwards. It should have ripped Chesta's earlobe clean through. It would have done, except that Chesta's own hand had flown up faster than he would have thought himself capable of, and seized his wrist, arresting the movement. As it was, his head was tugged down, and his ear felt excruciatingly hot and painful, but he did not think it had been torn. That was good. Now he was just left with the fact that he had laid hands on Dilandau-sama, unquestionably crossing him. Pleading self-defence would not get him anywhere. He felt an electric jolt of panic. He could _not_ let go and allow Dilandau to tear out Folken's gift. Holding on also seemed more or less like suicide. He remained frozen.

'What are you doing?' Dilandau asked between gritted teeth.

'Please,' said Chesta breathlessly, 'let go, Dilandau-sama.' He was astonished at himself. He had most certainly not intended to defy Dilandau-sama. His hand had seemed to move without his willing it.

' _You_ let go,' said Dilandau. His face was contorted with rage.

Chesta considered his options. He did not appear to have any. 'No,' he said, for want of a better answer.

' _No?_ '

'This is important to me,' Chesta said desperately.

'It's an _earring_ , Chesta. It makes you look stupid. Let _go_.'

The other boys were deeply unsettled by the whole business. Many of them were either naked or only half-dressed, and beginning to feel very cold, but they could no more turn away from the tableau than they could bring themselves to interfere. Chesta's defiance was incomprehensible. If he could handle pain to the point where he could pierce his own ear, why was he flinching from having the earring forcibly removed? Why was he fighting back at all? Chesta had never offered any resistance to Dilandau-sama; he had always borne his abuse more patiently and devotedly than any of them. He had always worried the most about him, made the most excuses for him, and been the most impressed by him.

The aquamarine and garnet-red eyes met and locked.

 _Why don't I feel more afraid?_ Chesta wondered. _I mean, I am scared, but not nearly as terrified as I would expect to be. The pain isn't the issue… what I'm not so afraid of now is displeasing Dilandau-sama. It upsets me, but it's not the end of the world._ The thought astonished him. It was a rather liberating feeling, oddly similar to what he had felt when he stopped being afraid of Van. The difference was, he knew he loved Dilandau-sama. His admiration and respect were intact as ever. They did not need to be enforced by fear.

Still, he did not have the nerve to try to force his commander to let go, not while he stared into those eyes, and it seemed like a stalemate.

Abruptly Dilandau released his grip on the earring and tugged his arm out of Chesta's grasp.

'I don't have time for this,' he said, sounding disgusted. 'If you want to look like an idiot go ahead. Typical of you.' He glared around at the others. 'What are you all staring at? Get dressed. Unless that Fanelian oaf has been messing around with the timetable, it's almost time for lunch.'

Chesta was beginning to relax. It almost felt as if he had somehow done the right thing. Dilandau-sama was not even looking at him now; he was telling the others to hurry up, turning away. And then his head snapped round, his hand swept up, and he gave Chesta a cuff across the side of his head that threw him against the lockers with a clang. Chesta grabbed at a handle to steady himself, his skull full of stunned white noise.

'I'm back,' he heard Dilandau say through the ringing in his ears. 'So once more we're going to be doing things _my_ way. Do you have anything to say to that?' There was an anxious hush in the room. Chesta blinked and shook his head, recovering, and realised with some amazement that people were looking at him, waiting for his reaction. He put a hand to his temple, trying to decide what he thought.

 _Dilandau-sama's in the changing rooms and all's right with the world. I don't mind at all that he hit me. It's what he does, what he is. And I know, I'll always know, that it's his way of showing he cares about us. He's very hard on other people because he's so exceptional himself that it's hard for him to accept their weakness. Things are going to get better now he's back. I'm going to try harder than ever to make him proud, and somehow the fact that I'm not afraid of him now makes me feel more able to do it._

He lifted his head. 'Yes, Dilandau-sama,' he said. 'We're all eager to serve you again.'

 

Dilandau was feeling relatively good. He seemed to be fine physically. It was disorienting to learn that he had been more or less unconscious for over a week, with no memory of the time, but obviously whatever it was was out of his system now. He did not want to dwell on it, and had asked the doctor no questions beyond 'So can I go back now?' The business with Chesta had been surprising and unpleasant, but had turned out all right. Chesta had knuckled under as he had expected in the end. He'd probably just picked up some bad habits under Van, but it would be easy enough to get them all back into condition. It was what they all wanted really. He'd looked around at them all and seen the awe in their eyes at his return.

And there would be time during lunch to pump them for information on what had gone on in his absence, and to make a few plans before he had to encounter Van again. He was ready for that now. He would not be taken by surprise any more; he would be on his guard in every way. He was rather looking forward to seeing him again, to proving himself against him. He was a little excited about it.

But his heart lurched downward when he entered the mess hall, at the head of the Dragonslayers, to find Van already sitting at the long table, eating tomato soup. Dilandau stopped in the doorway, with damp-haired, soap-smelling boys backing up behind him, and fought for mastery of himself. He felt an urge to attack, another to run, another to just sit down and laugh helplessly. _I can never rely on him to behave as he's supposed to._

Then he realised that his position allowed him to make a good entrance, framed in the doorway. He stood still a moment longer until Van looked up and saw him, then strode forward and stood on the opposite side of the table, fists on hips, looking down at the seated boy.

'I'm back,' he said. 'I am in command again. Get used to it.'

Van gazed back at him, almost impassively, although there was a light in his eyes for a moment at the very first, a reaction which he suppressed before Dilandau had time to interpret it.

'So you say,' he replied.

'What are you doing here anyway?' Dilandau demanded. 'You eat lunch with your brother.'

'He told me you would be back today,' Van said coolly. 'I thought I'd be here to welcome you.'

Dilandau cursed Folken. There went the element of surprise. He had probably planned it that way, to sabotage Dilandau and help his wretched brother keep his jumped-up position. _He's always trying to do me down_ , he thought furiously. _He envies me and so he has to try to ruin what I've got, what he can't have, a freak like him; his men might fear him but they'll never adore him. Trying to keep me down, put me in my place. Trying to change me. No-one is going to stop me being Dilandau, just being myself as hard as possible. Ordinary people don't know about that, which is why they are ordinary, and why I am above them all._

He sat down. 'Chesta, get me my lunch,' he said, without looking at the boy. The Dragonslayers trooped off towards the serving hatch, leaving Van and Dilandau sitting opposite one another, eyes locked over the table. There was an expression 'to look daggers at someone,' Dilandau remembered. He felt he was doing more; he was looking Crima claws at Van, shooting a superheated jet of liquid metal from each of his pupils directly through Van's into his brain. He had to be pinned by a stare like that, by the fire of it.

Van stared back, cold as midnight in winter. Then his eyelids dropped carelessly and he returned to eating his soup. Dilandau slowly clenched his teeth together until his jaw throbbed, forcing himself back from an explosive reaction. It was what he most wanted to do, but he had the feeling that it was what Van was trying to provoke, and if so he was double-damned if he would co-operate. He would _not_ lose control.

'Here's your lunch, Dilandau-sama,' Chesta said brightly, setting down a tray in front of him. 'They must have known you were coming, they've done your favourite peppers.'

'The _kitchen staff_ knew I was coming back!?' _How much goes on that I don't know about? Why are they keeping me in the dark?_

'I - I was only joking, Dilandau-sama.'

'Since when do you make jokes at _my_ expense?'

'I didn't mean it that way!' Chesta exclaimed, stepping back. 'I just meant it was funny that we've got peppers on the day you came back. It's just a nice coincidence. Don't you think?'

Dilandau looked moodily at the food on the tray. 'I've gone off them,' he said.

'Oh… sorry, I thought you'd be really pleased.' Chesta looked genuinely dismayed.

'I'll eat them if you don't want them,' Van said blandly. 'It's a sin to waste food.' He reached out with his spoon towards the peppers on Dilandau's tray.

'Keep your hands off my lunch,' Dilandau told him, hitting the spoon away. Van looked amused.

'Dog in the manger,' he said.

Dilandau stabbed a pepper with his fork and put it in his mouth, biting down rather savagely. It was so hot it made his eyes sting, and concentrating on not letting them water was a sufficient distraction to make him feel slightly better. Sensing a minor diminution in tension, the other boys sat down and started eating in a subdued way, although the little glances they kept popping Dilandau's way continued to show how surprised and glad they were to see him again. Their curiosity was obvious. After a minute or so Guimel could not contain himself any longer.

'Dilandau-sama,' he piped up, 'are you glad to be back with us?'

'It's nice to be back where I belong,' Dilandau conceded.

'Yeah, but does it feel really weird to be back? I mean, after so long is it hard to settle in again?'

Dilandau regarded him a little coldly, trying to decide whether or not he was deliberately emphasising the length of the absence. With Guimel you couldn't be sure; he had a slight tact deficiency.

'Apart from the shock of seeing Chesta's ridiculous little dragon, I haven't found it too jarring.'

There was an odd sputtering noise and heads turned to look at Van, who appeared to find it necessary to spit some of his soup back into the bowl and cover his mouth with his napkin.

'What?' said Dilandau. 'Food not good enough, compared with the Strategos' table?'

'No,' said Van, 'no, excuse me, it's a word joke. It's a Fanelian thing, you wouldn't understand.' Few phrases are more annoying. If he had been trying to get under Dilandau's skin, he could not have done much better. Of course, it was almost unnecessary to think in terms of 'if.'

'You'd be surprised what I can understand. What's so damn' funny?'

'What you said,' said Van. 'It sounds a bit weird when I explain, but, well, in Fanelian slang, if a guy mentioned his "little dragon"… it's kind of a euphemism, or a nickname… he'd be talking about his cock.' The corner of his mouth twitched as if he were working hard to hold back his merriment. 'Or in this case Chesta's. Can I ask what's shocking about it?' He lost the battle and had to resort to smothering the laugh in the napkin again. None of the Dragonslayers suffered from such a lack of self-control as to laugh with him, but a few appeared to be biting their lips quite painfully and were looking fixedly at their plates. Chesta had simply turned a deep cherry-red and was staring glassily straight ahead of him.

Dilandau could feel his own face reddening - with anger, he screamed internally, with _anger_. Laughing at him, twisting his words into an idiotic, vulgar joke…

'I was _talking_ about the stupid dragon _earring_ he's got on,' he hissed. 'If you have such a dirty mind that you find a double entendre in that…'

'Dilandau-sama was annoyed with me for wearing it and tried to pull it off,' Chesta put in, anxious to clarify matters and clear his leader's name. 'In the showers before lunch. You can ask anyone.'

'So,' said Van, looking more highly amused than ever, 'you all saw Dilandau yanking on Chesta's little dragon in the showers?'

'Oh, shut _up!_ ' Chesta burst out, and then looked ashamed of himself. Van stared at him. That was unusually outspoken for Chesta. Maybe he had been unfair to him.

'Sorry,' said Van mildly. 'I didn't mean to embarrass _you_.'

'Well, what sort of thing is that to go around saying about people,' Chesta blustered. An inspiration came to him. 'Have you been reading that dirty book Biore found and getting ideas?' What a perfect way to turn the tables. Dilandau-sama would have to appreciate it, and frankly Van deserved it.

'What dirty book?' Dilandau asked, thrown off balance by this unexpected turn.

'Someone left a book in our dormitory full of weird stories about boys having sex. Together, I mean,' explained Gatti.

'I only flicked through,' said Biore, 'but playing with each other in the showers was the _least_ of it.' He rolled his eyes expressively. 'Van-sama confiscated it,' he said, innocently, and took a demure sip of water.

 _Oh, but I can count on my boys when I need them_ , Dilandau thought. 'Suddenly your fascination with the idea makes perfect sense,' he said to Van, with acid sweetness. 'You're wishing the dragon in question was yours.'

Van was, if possible, redder in the face than Chesta had been. His mouth dropped open rather helplessly.

'I am _not_ ,' he said.

'Of _course_ you're not,' said Dilandau, giving him his most vulpine smile.

'Just keep telling yourself that,' said Biore, jumping on the bandwagon. ' _That'll_ make the naughty thoughts go away.' He had been extremely insulted by Van's remark about him when confiscating the book and it was lovely to get his own back.

'Gosh, it's a _good_ thing he doesn't shower with us, I don't think he could handle it,' said Gatti, since Biore was his friend, and anyway he thought Van had been asking for it too.

'No, I think he would _handle_ it, he couldn't stop himself,' said Biore.

'Both of you shut up,' said Van urgently. 'If you think you can talk to me like that because Dilandau's back you've got another think coming.'

'He's coming just thinking about it,' said Gatti, which was generally felt to be carrying the whole double-entendre thing a little too far, but it was hard to stop when he was on a roll.

'What are you going to do?' Dilandau asked ever so sweetly. 'Tell your brother on us?' He knew, and Van knew, and he knew Van knew he knew (which was the best part) that there was no way he could do this. It would be much too humiliating. 'It's all right, Van,' he went on with supreme condescension. 'I'm used to people having crushes on me. It does happen a lot. It's not your fault if you couldn't quite cope with it.'

'You _know_ what bullshit that is!' Van shouted, springing to his feet and knocking over his chair with a clatter. 'Tell them it's not true!'

Dilandau raised his eyebrows and opened his eyes wide as red-hearted daisies. 'Don't you think you should ask _yourself_ if it's true?' he asked, in tones of great, oily sincerity. This was brilliant. He was driving Van into a fury without ever losing control himself. _I'm getting an incredible buzz out of it. It's nearly as good as a full-on fight. Maybe better, because it's so concentrated and controlled… like when you just slowly stroke instead of rubbing hard…_ He stopped that train of thought, feeling startled. Getting a buzz from it was one thing; getting _off_ on it was a bit of a disturbing notion.

'I will make you _so_ sorry for this,' Van said - almost _growled_.

'How?' asked Dilandau, grinning. 'Just calm down. You're getting overexcited.'

'Shut _up!_ ' Van struck the table in front of him with his fist, catching the rim of the bowl holding his soup. It flipped up and its contents splattered over his tunic and trousers.

'Surely cold water would have been more appropriate,' said Biore, not missing a beat.

Van stood still for a moment, staring down at the dripping mess, his breath shuddering slightly with a combination of revulsion and fury. He stepped back from the table, kicking the fallen chair out of the way.

'Excuse me,' he said stonily, 'I have to go and clean up.'

'He feels dirty,' said Gatti. He'd never realised Van-baiting would be so much fun. He waggled his eyebrows at Biore, who winked back.

'Use lots of soap and water, Van-sama,' added Biore.

'Yeah, scrub hard.' They both lapsed into giggles. Van shot them one last disgusted look and stormed out of the mess hall.

'D-don't expect Dilandau-sama to come and help you,' Gatti added gleefully, although Van could no longer hear him. 'Or to help you and… no, no, I'll stop, I'll stop.'

'It's about time,' said Chesta. 'You two don't know when to let go of a joke, do you?' He was afraid Dilandau-sama would think they'd gone too far. He felt they were walking on eggshells with this one. It came entirely too close to home for him, for one thing.

'And how about you?' Dilandau said, turning to Chesta. 'Thanks for _helping_. He wouldn't have had any more ammunition if you hadn't given him that little footnote about the showers.' He moved quickly and Chesta found himself caught in a tight headlock. He shut his eyes and waited for whatever was coming.

It was a sharp but not vicious noogie. 'But then you gave me an opening to pretty much destroy him,' said Dilandau, 'so this time I'll let you live.' He released Chesta and looked around triumphantly at the others. 'Did you _see_ the look on his face? Well, _laugh!_ '


	9. Closer

Van decided to stay away from the Dragonslayers for the rest of the day, furious and humiliated. He was feeling the gap in his day since he had sworn off gong to see Celena, and the afternoon felt empty and purposeless. In the end he asked Folken and received permission to go out for a solo flight - although Folken told him to take an Alseides as he was in the middle of giving Escaflowne an overhaul that made it temporarily unsafe to fly.

Of course he had learned to use an Alseides since he had been on the _Vione_ , and he was getting to the point where it didn't feel too strange to him to be surrounded by liquid metal. _Besides_ , he thought, _it's better to be using a modern melef that my brother designed, rather than a probably unreliable antique the family got from who knows where. The Alseides is a work of art, and better still, a work of craft._ (He was unconsciously quoting Folken, when they had discussed the new guymelefs over lunch one day.) _It shows how far a man can come, from inheritance to invention. The future is going to be better than the past ever was; the Golden Age will look like lead compared with the brightness to come._

He flew high up, looking through the cockpit viewer at the clouds passing close above and the landscape passing far below, insulated by the machine surrounding and embracing him from the cold, from the whip and thrum of the air, from the singing of it in his ears, from the thin chilly reality of being human in the sky. He thought of his wings, wondering what it would be like to really fly now. He hadn't tried it since he was a small boy and Mother had gotten so upset about it. Perhaps he wouldn't even be able to do it; if ordinary muscles became atrophied through lack of use magical wings might too. He had never asked Folken about flying, although he suspected he had done it quite a lot.

A startling thought slipped to the front of his mind, as though it had been lurking in the rear and waiting for an opportunity. _Would my wings be black now too?_ His hands were not free, but in his thoughts he touched the black feather hidden inside his shirt. _If they were, I'd be just like him… like when I was little and I'd put on a green shirt and grey pants because that was what he was wearing and say see, now we're twins… with the top of my head about level with his knee, yeah,_ just _like twins…_ The funny memory made him smile. He seemed to need a nice thought following on from 'just like him,' because for some reason that idea made him shiver.

He had not been planning to land, but now he could feel that he would not be at peace until he'd investigated this, and for some reason he wanted to check in private, with no chance of anyone seeing. The _Vione_ was hovering at anchor above a rather bleak landscape; he realised that he was not even sure where they were. He might have some idea if it were night and he could look at the stars, but just now he couldn't be certain. It looked like cold desert or tundra down there, a broad brown inhospitable plain surrounding a snow-capped mountain some way off. A thin pillar of white smoke rising above the peak suggested the volcanic origin of the landscape. It might be near the place where the wandering continents swarmed.

Van landed the Alseides in the middle of a sweep of auburn and blond tussock grass, tawny lions' manes tossing in the wind. He lowered the stealth cloak to make himself less noticeable to anyone who might happen by - although it was hard to imagine who might have any business in a place like this - and climbed out of the Alseides, leaving it invisible. He began taking off the outer clothing of his upper body, thinking how strange it was to do this in a natural landscape so unlike the lush little garden. Here he had to take off his shirt too, and stand bare to the wind, which sent little waves of gooseflesh chasing each other across his skin, exactly like the ripples that ran across the tussock tops as they bowed and rose up again. He looked at himself carefully and critically; he thought he looked stronger, his ribs less visible and his arms less scrawny; he must be better nourished these days. But his skin was getting paler; it was weird to think that it was the summer season, but he was turning the colours of winter. It didn't feel like summer out here; this seemed like a place apart from all seasons, always bleak.

He was putting off the moment of truth, he realised. He had been bound by his mother's wish for so long that it was quite hard to put aside the inhibition against showing his wings. It was more of an exposure than nakedness.

 _Of course_ , he thought, practicality coming to the fore, _here I am half naked already and I'm certainly not getting any warmer, so I may as well get it over with so I can go home._

He set his teeth and clenched his fists, prepared for the effort. It was as difficult as he had remembered; it wasn't so much a pain at first as an uncanny pressure and grinding as the bones re-arranged themselves in his shoulders and back, and the feeling of one's bones changing inside one's body is one of horror. And then the skin burst, and the pain flowered, and he screamed as the desert wind screamed. Van fell forward onto his hands and knees, panting and trying not to gag. He thought he would bleed to death; he must be torn open. After a few seconds, though, the irrational terror subsided and he realised the skin and muscles of his back were whole and unharmed. He had, after all, forgotten exactly how it felt. Perhaps it was worse now he was bigger. The pain was a fading ghost now, and he could feel his wings arching over his back, could feel the wind catching, pushing and tugging at them, could feel them as surely and naturally as he felt his arms and legs.

Folken had told him once that he could still sometimes feel his right arm, his real right arm, like a ghost inhabiting the space that had been filled by a prosthesis. Apparently this was not uncommon for amputees; the nervous system did not fully register that the limb was gone, even though the nerves it had contained were no longer sending messages. This seemed like the opposite of that; sensation and awareness suddenly extending from his body into an area previously void. Slowly, experimentally, he stretched out his wings, then bent them back close to his body. They gave some shelter from the wind, which was a relief; he was shuddering from the cold and there were even a few flakes of snow falling.

No, there weren't. A 'snowflake' spiralled down and landed on the back of his hand, and turned out to feel warm and soft. It was one of his own feathers, white as ever. A blizzard of shed feathers was swirling around him, scattering in the wind, and they were all pure white.

Van raised his head and stared at the wind-driven plumes. Particles of down and fluff blew into his face and stuck to the tears that were running down his cheeks, tears that felt boiling hot and left freezing cold trails as the air attacked his skin. One strong feeling rose up in him, a feeling of relief.

 _I'm not like him. I've not become like him. I'm myself, I was always myself._ The tears flowed faster and a few sobs of gladness escaped. He wiped at his eyes, sniffing, and wrapped his arms around himself, trying to stop shivering.

 _Why do I feel this way? I don't understand. I_ want _to be like Folken. I admire him. Why was I so scared? I never even realised I felt that way until just now. It's clearer and more confused at the same time._

His stomach rumbled, which rather distracted him from self-analysis. He had not managed to eat much at lunch and he was still quite hungry. Suddenly, with a jolt of guilty panic, he realised that he had not had his meds with lunch. He normally took them after finishing the meal, because they were best taken on a full stomach. _Stupid! If I get sick again it'll serve me right. God, how stupid, stupid and ungrateful, when Folken worries so much about me. He always reminds me. The one day I have lunch without him and I go and forget! I let bloody Dilandau upset me and this is what happens._

 _Calm down,_ he told himself. _It isn't a disaster yet. Just go straight back, get something to eat and take them with that. It shouldn't matter if I get this dose a little late. I've always been so good before. Nothing will happen if I go and make it right right now._

He pulled in his wings, almost forgetting to notice how it felt in his hurry, and bundled on his clothes. There were still white feathers clinging in his hair as he scrambled back into the Alseides cockpit.

 

He felt better when he had begged a couple of sandwiches from the girl doing the washing-up in the mess hall kitchen and washed down the pills with milk. Because he was still avoiding the Dragonslayers he returned to his room for a while. Unfortunately his room offered very little in the way of entertainment, once wadding up paper and lobbing it into the wastebasket from different positions around the room lost its appeal. For some reason he was starting to feel quite energetic, and his mood was lifting markedly from the anxious, muddled state he had been in not long ago. When he remembered the events of lunchtime, well, he was still angry, but it didn't feel like such helpless anger any more. Indeed, he was thinking more and more about what had happened then, while his feelings down on the desert plain were beginning to recede to the background of his thoughts. Dilandau must think he had won. It was time to disabuse him of that impression. He shied a ball of paper into the basket with such force that it knocked the whole thing over, and set off for the training hall.

 

As he entered, Dilandau was giving a spirited demonstration of how to kill Migel Labariel, should anyone wish to do this.

'Keep _still_ , Migel,' he snapped. 'You could still be alive, I've got to finish you off.'

'No,' protested Migel, who had gotten out of practice at being beaten up, 'I assure you, I'm completely dead.'

'As long as you're vertical, I’m going to assume you're alive!' Dilandau retorted, and caught him on the back of the head with an upward stroke of the practice blade. 'There, _now_ you're dead,' he said in a satisfied tone. 'That took the top of your head off.'

'It feels like it,' Migel mumbled, rubbing the place where he could already feel a lump rising. He was uncomfortably sure he was being disloyal, because glad as he was to have Dilandau back, he knew he preferred Van's methods of training.

Van did not announce himself; he simply drew his sword, and let the hiss and clatter of the movement speak for itself. At first only one or two of the assembled boys turned to look at him, but others quickly followed their gaze and soon everyone was staring his way.

'I'm surprised you're showing your face here,' said Dilandau. He snapped his fingers and held out one hand; Dalet, whose job it was now established as being, quickly passed him a towel with which to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

'Nothing the matter with _my_ face,' said Van calmly, walking towards Dilandau. 'I've come to avenge your insults and lies. In other words, to challenge you. Of course, we don't _have_ to have a fight. I would accept a full retraction of what you said about me and a grovelling apology. How about it?'

It would never have happened anyway, but the implied jibe about Dilandau's face made doubly sure of that. Dilandau's eyes narrowed. He threw the towel away from him.

'I might as well fight you again,' he said. 'With no-one to help you _cheat_ , I'll enjoy thrashing you.' He drew his own sword, and the movement triggered a change in the scene; both boys fell back a step to circle one another warily. The shift was so beautifully synchronised that it looked like choreography; the circling heightened the resemblance to a dance.

 _I wish they'd stop_ , Chesta thought fretfully. It had just occurred to him that, although he considered himself automatically on Dilandau-sama's side, he might have to try to intervene in the fight if it looked as though Van-sama might get too seriously hurt. It would be disloyal to Folken to stand by while bad things happened to his little brother. But things would get so messy if he had to step forward like that; it would upset Dilandau-sama, it would raise undesirable questions about his motives, it would make him awfully conspicuous and at the moment he felt that he didn't want to attract one bit more attention than absolutely necessary.

Would Folken understand if he kept his head down? Could he say 'I thought it was more important to protect our secret, and not draw attention to myself'? _Probably not. I know he loves Van-sama. It's only reasonable to assume he loves his brother much more than he likes me. And he won't like me at_ all _if I let Van-sama get hurt… Dilandau-sama wouldn't actually_ kill _him here, would he?_

Dilandau was the first to dart forward, and the first blows were exchanged with an almost musical sequence of clashes and clangs. Dilandau made a thrust which looked certain to hit Van painfully under the arm, but he somehow twisted away from the blade before the audience even had time to stop wincing in anticipation.

The first flurry was over and they were circling again, eyes glaring, white teeth bared. Perhaps it was just because he had spiky hair in the first place, but Van appeared to be bristling, and the animalistic quality was enhanced by the fact that he seemed to be growling, low in his throat. Dilandau simply smouldered like white-hot coals. Chesta wondered whether anyone would notice if he slipped out to tell Folken what was happening, but didn't dare move. It would look odd if he were the one running to the Strategos, and anyway the hatred he would incur for being a tale-carrier would make life the next thing to unbearable. He wished he had never let Folken _touch_ his ear.

'All this is my fault, isn't it?' he whispered to Dalet, beside him. 'It all started with my stupid earring.' He could feel his heartbeat in the earlobe.

'Don't be so hard on yourself,' Dalet replied. He was watching the fight as though he was more curious than concerned about the outcome. 'They would have found an excuse sooner or later. That's just how these two are.' He spared Chesta a quick glance. 'Anyway, it suits you. I wish I'd had the nerve to do something like that.'

'It was disobedient. Dilandau-sama doesn't like it,' Chesta fretted.

'It's not disobedient if he never told you not to do it,' Dalet pointed out. 'I'm beginning to wonder if we don't all humour Dilandau-sama a little too much.'

Chesta found this show of disaffected cynicism alarming, especially in someone who had been honoured with a job to do for Dilandau-sama.

'You're just sore because he pushed you over,' he said, and turned back to watch the fight.

'Damn' right I'm sore,' Dalet said, sounding amused. 'My whole behind is one solid, lavender and magenta bruise.' Chesta refused to respond, even with a smile. He was too intent on watching the combatants, anyway; now Van charged and Dilandau clearly had his work cut out to avoid anything being cut off. To the audience's audible horror, one blow landed, slitting the leather of Dilandau's sleeve, but a sigh of relief went up as people realised that only the leather had been pierced; by a fluke, the blade had slid straight through beside the arm without cutting it. When Van jerked the sword free Dilandau dropped back, seeming to consider his next move.

'Didn't get me,' Dilandau panted.

'Got you last time,' Van replied. 'I'll get you again.' His eyes flicked towards the scar, shining with perspiration. 'Does it still hurt?'

'Shut up.'

'I'll bet you still feel it in your dreams. Sleeping well, Dilandau? You look tired.'

 _'Shut up.'_

'You're not at your best. You've been sick. It won't be as satisfying to beat you like this.'

'You're not going to beat me.'

'I'm going to make you _cry_.'

'You can't make me _anything_.'

'I made you sick in the first place. I put you out of action for more than a week with one cut. How long do you think you'll have to rest up from this little encounter? Why do you keep asking for it when you know you can't handle it?'

'You bastard,' Dilandau hissed. 'I'll kill you this time. Watch closely, Dragonslayers, you're going to learn.'

'Come here,' said Van casually, and slashed at him, stepping forward. It was an easy blow to block and as Dilandau stopped it he realised that Van had meant for him to do this; he had manoeuvred him into that same dangerous deadlock, Van's blade hissing down the length of his and the two swords locking at the hilts. He fought to break away, to gain the advantage, but he could only push against the pressure Van exerted and he seemed to have gotten stronger since the last time they fought. Van leaned ever closer; Dilandau could feel his breath on his face, and Van's face was rapidly filling his field of vision. He tried desperately to focus on his mouth or the end of his nose, anything but looking into those eyes… it was like that game where you tried not to think of a white bear. Van's eyes were all he could see. God, how close _was_ he?

He knew the answer as the blade, both blades, hit his chest, flat sides on, pressed between his body and Van's. His own fingers were locked on the hilt of his sword but Van suddenly spared a hand to snatch up behind Dilandau's head and seize a handful of his hair. Van hooked his right foot behind Dilandau's left; from this stance he could topple him completely, but instead he held him, trapped by his grasp and pinned by his gaze.

Dilandau made a last desperate effort to look anywhere but at Van; at the crossed blades sliding up away to the side of his face, at the indistinct circle of gawping faces that surrounded them. Nothing was as real as the devouring eyes.

And then they moved from his view, because Van was leaning his head forward, beside Dilandau's, his cheek brushing Dilandau's, and whispering hotly, breathily in his ear.

'Last chance to apologise with some kind of dignity. Come on. Say the words. Just give in to me.'

Dilandau's voice rang out high and clear and furious. 'Look at what he's doing! All of you! Everything I said is true! Get off me, you pervert.'

'You're still on that?' Van breathed. 'It would serve you right if it was true.' The rage in him was too high, too mindless, for him to think of appearances, of consequences; he only looked for the next way, the best way to hurt Dilandau, to panic him, to outrage him. He didn't need the sword. The scar was right in front of him.

He touched the tip of his tongue to the tip of the scar and traced the length of it, to the hairline. The salt of Dilandau's sweat burned on his tongue; he felt the soft skin flinch from the touch; he heard Dilandau inhale sharply and then stop breathing altogether.

'Oh my _God_ ,' said someone unidentified in the background.

Van drew back, trying to see Dilandau's face. His eyes were tightly closed and his ashy brows drawn together in an expression of suffering, and he was blushing far too deeply for it to be just a flush of exertion. It was his mouth that Van found himself staring at, at the way his lips trembled as he held his breath, seeking control. In one movement he pushed his sword down and released his hold on it, pushing the sword from Dilandau's nerveless hands at the same time, and raised his freed hand to Dilandau's face, taking his chin in a tight grip.

 _He's going to kiss him,_ Chesta thought. _Does this mean I'm psychic? I would never have guessed. Why doesn't Dilandau-sama_ move _? It's as though he's paralysed… or he_ wants _it… God, I know how he feels if he does… I think… could he ever really feel the way I do?_

The force of expectation was so great that the onlookers almost could not understand what was happening as Van jerked back with his foot and pulled Dilandau's foot out from under him. He pushed him to the ground; they all heard Dilandau gasp for air before Van pinned his shoulders to the floor.

 _On his back is not the best position if he wants to force him,_ Chesta thought, and was astonished and disgusted at himself the next second. He could _not_ think of this in the same way as one of the rougher encounters in a smutty book; those made him uncomfortable anyway. These were real people, and yet it seemed so unreal; he couldn't believe that Van-sama would violate Dilandau-sama in front of all of them any more than he could believe one would kill the other. _Surely not_ , he kept thinking, _surely not… he_ didn't _kiss him…_

'Tell them,' Van said, and put his forearm across Dilandau's throat as an indication of the punishment if Dilandau would not. 'Tell them that what you said about me isn't true.'

Dilandau's eyes were still tightly shut; it was the only way he could think of to protect himself now. He bit his lip and said nothing.

' _Say_ it,' said Van, and shoved against Dilandau's windpipe, making him choke.

'It's not true,' he said desperately. _It's the first night all over again. Anything for this to be over._

'Say you knew you were lying.'

'I knew I w-was lying.' _Get off me you bastard get off me let me go…_

'But you knew what you were talking about.'

'Wh-what?' In his confusion Dilandau made the mistake of opening his eyes.

 _'Tell_ them… it was your fantasy, not mine.'

'No!'

'I'll tell them what you said when we were alone in my room. When I first came here.'

'I didn't say _anything!_ ' Van leaned on his arm and Dilandau's protests were cut off in a choking gurgle.

'I'll tell them what you asked me to do. All your dirty ideas… you hated me more because I wouldn't touch you.' Van wet his lips, waiting for the next idea. No, maybe that was enough for now. Time to just close in for the kill.

'Tell them _you_ wanted _me_.'

Dilandau could only look defiance, and even that was weakening, blurred by the tears in his eyes.

' _Say it_.' Another dig. Dilandau's mouth opened in a soundless gasp of pain.

'He can't say anything if he can't _breathe!_ ' Chesta rushed forward and grabbed at Van's shoulder. 'Let him go! You're choking him.' Dilandau-sama might hate him forever for doing this but it was better to have him alive to do the hating.

Van seemed not to hear Chesta at first, so intent was he on staring at Dilandau; then his head slowly turned and he looked up at the blond boy for a moment in an unseeing way. His pupils were so dilated that his eyes looked entirely black.

'L-let him up,' Chesta stammered. He had gone and made himself conspicuous after all. Van-sama and Dilandau-sama would _both_ hate him. He would have to go and hide under Folken's bed for the rest of his life.

Van slowly got to his feet and stepped away from Dilandau, who took several long, croaking breaths with his hands to his throat. Chesta crouched beside him.

'You're all right, Dilandau-sama,' he said. He glanced up to check what Van was doing and saw with some surprise that he had picked up his dropped sword and was walking away, leaving the room without a word.

Dilandau rolled onto his side, coughing a little. Chesta patted his back, not sure if he was doing the right thing.

'He didn't win,' he said softly. 'He didn't get you to give in. You faced him out, Dilandau-sama. Your will was stronger.'

Dilandau put his hands over his face. He had been about to say it.


	10. Dreams and Portents

Chesta was more nervous than usual about sneaking out of the dormitory that night. Slipping out from under Dilandau-sama's nose was quite a different proposition to just walking out when it was only the fifteen of them sleeping there. The difference was psychological as much as practical. It had been an extremely difficult afternoon and evening. Dilandau-sama wouldn't speak to anyone; he went and took a shower, then sat on his bed in his underwear, staring at nothing. His neck was bruised. After a while his hand moved absentmindedly up to the scar on his cheek, and he began to run one finger repeatedly down the length of it. The boys gathered around his bed, uneasily.

'Dilandau-sama,' Gatti said after a while, 'do you know it's nearly time for dinner?'

'I can still feel it,' Dilandau whispered.

'Well… yes, you have some bruises… they'll fade in a little while.'

'I can still feel the blade…'

Gatti looked up at the others, eyebrows raised to denote _What the hell do I say now?_

'He's a serpent,' said Dilandau. 'His forked tongue tears me.' He was trembling very slightly, so little that you might not notice until you looked closely. The pupils of his eyes had contracted to pinpricks.

'That's only your imagination, Dilandau-sama,' said Biore, trying to help Gatti out. 'Come on, why don't you get dressed for dinner?' The idea of prosaic things like getting dressed and having dinner was the best antidote he could come up with for such vaguely mystical utterances.

'He'll be there,' said Dilandau, surprising them all with a fairly relevant answer.

'We'll go in first and check for you,' Migel offered. 'If he is we'll make him leave. He has no right to eat with the rest of us after that.'

'We did it to him first,' Dalet pointed out in an undertone, and was loudly shushed.

'I can't eat,' said Dilandau. 'My throat hurts.' He was still tracing the scar, mechanically, except that now he was drawing his fingernail down the length of it. It was beginning to redden.

'We'll bring you something back,' Chesta said. 'Why don't you have an early night?'

'What if we get in trouble?' Gatti murmured. 'I suppose Van-sama can get away with ducking in and out of the schedule, but if we're not all where we're meant to be, when we're meant to be there, the Strategos is going to start asking questions.'

'He'll understand this once,' Chesta said.

'Why? Just because he was nice to you once doesn't mean he'll go easy on us.' Gatti glanced at Dilandau to see if he appeared to be listening, which he did not, and continued in a whisper. 'I mean _Dilandau-sama_ could get in trouble. This doesn't look good for him. He provoked Van-sama in the first place.'

'I think you and Biore helped with that quite a lot,' said Dalet. 'I wasn't about to get involved with that.'

'We were just backing Dilandau-sama up!' Biore said indignantly. 'It's what we _do_.'

'You did make it worse,' said Migel.

'Whose side are you on?' Biore demanded.

'We're all on the same side! We're Dragonslayers,' Chesta interrupted them. 'Please, let's not fight about this. Dilandau-sama has an excuse to miss dinner, he's been sick, he can just say he needs to take it a little easy for a few days so he doesn't have a relapse. Who ever checks up on us anyway? Don't worry about it. Let's just look after him tonight, and I bet he'll be fine in the morning. He's very resilient. Look at how fast that cut has healed.'

'It won't stay healed if he keeps worrying at it like that,' Gatti said, with a troubled look at Dilandau. 'Shouldn't someone stay with him and watch him? The rest of us can smuggle back enough for two people to eat.'

'I'll stay,' said Chesta firmly.

'You really are changing,' Dalet said. 'You'd never have put yourself forward like this a while ago.' He looked at Chesta rather speculatively.

'I just want to look after Dilandau-sama. That's the same as always,' Chesta said. ‘And you didn’t use to be so cynical.’ He was fairly sure now that he didn't think Dalet was entirely to be trusted. It wasn't that he thought he was treacherous, just that he was clearly the type to ask the wrong kind of questions - i.e. the rather perceptive type that Chesta didn't want asked.

 

So he had stayed with him while the others went to dinner, and very depressing it was too. After a while Dilandau seemed to notice that he was getting cold, and crawled into bed. Chesta had not quite dared to speak to him, much less try to make him stop picking at his scar. He seemed so remote, as though his eyes were focused on something only he could see. Chesta sat on the next bed and watched him. Apart from the stroking of the scar, he lay as still as if he were dead. It seemed as though he could continue like this indefinitely.

It gave Chesta a nasty start when he suddenly spoke. 'Why are you still here?'

'We didn't want to leave you alone,' Chesta faltered.

Dilandau closed his eyes and rolled over, turning his back to Chesta and pulling the covers up high around his shoulders. 'Draw the curtains,' he said.

Chesta had obeyed. The rest of the evening had passed almost as if Dilandau-sama were not there, except that everyone was so acutely conscious of the scarlet-curtained presence that they would all have heard if he had so much as stirred. He did not touch any of the food the others had brought back from dinner, although Chesta was glad of the opportunity to eat a bread roll and a couple of cold sausages during silent study. He was so tired by now he thought he would pass out if he didn't keep himself well fuelled with food.

 

Chesta got out of bed with his heart in his mouth. It was a little later than he would normally have made the attempt; he wanted to be doubly sure everyone was asleep. After a day like this it might have taken them longer to nod off. He decided to go out via the locker room and training hall, so that if anyone woke and asked where he was going he could say he just wanted the toilet. The problem was that he had to walk right by Dilandau's bed to get to that door. He moved as silently as he could, pausing between steps to make sure he was unobserved, and eventually gained the relative safety of the locker room without incident. From there on it was almost easy. He was so familiar by now with the quickest and least obtrusive way there, with the patterns of movement of the sentries and the few other people who were likely to be about at this time of night. He felt almost as though he was simply at the end of a long line which Folken reeled in at night.

He tapped softly on Folken's door. It took slightly longer than usual for him to open it. Folken was in his dressing-gown, a loose, soft dark green garment, and had a pen behind his ear. He closed the door quickly behind Chesta and put his arms around him; Chesta felt the tension fall away from him, his limbs going almost limp. He could relax completely like this, and be protected; he could lean against Folken's broad chest and be supported. He could almost fall asleep right here.

Folken kissed his forehead. 'I have to ask you to forgive me,' he said.

'What for?' Chesta murmured.

'I'm busy tonight. I'll still have time for you, don't worry, but there are things I have to finish first. There's been a landslide that blocked a pass our infantry were going to go through to enter Freid, so they have to take a different approach, and the fact that they'll probably enter the country at a different point means I have to make rearrangements major or minor to all sorts of other plans, and… well, it would bore you to explain it all, but I have a couple of hours' work left to do. Can you stand to wait? Or am I in the doghouse?'

'Of course I don't mind waiting. I know how important your work is.' Chesta looked up at him seriously. 'I'd never think I had a right to complain about having to wait for you. Forgiving you isn't even in the question. Is this one of your straight-faced jokes?'

'Not really,' said Folken. 'It does seem somewhat unfair, with you running the risk of coming to me every night, for you to have to sit around while I fiddle with bits of paper. I always want to give you more compensation than that.' He traced the side of Chesta's face with his fingertips. 'How's the ear?'

'It's all right. Getting better. Dilandau-sama doesn't like it.' Chesta looked preoccupied. 'I - I actually want to talk to you about Dilandau-sama, but I don't know if you'll think it's appropriate. It isn't me telling you what I think you ought to do, or anything like that. I know you know better than I do about all this. But if I'm worried about something, I can talk to you, right?'

'Of course you can. Anything,' Folken said tenderly.

'And I _will_ give you compensation for listening to me babble on.'

'I bet you will. Can I have a kiss in advance?' It should only have been a quick, light kiss, but it ended up lingering, and Folken slid his hands down over Chesta's back to cup around his behind, drawing him closer, gently squeezing the smooth, compact curves of his body.

'I thought you wanted to get on with your work.'

'I do, but it's so hard to remember that when I'm touching you.' Folken sighed and stepped back. 'You'll have to help me. I know this sounds cold. Please just sit on the couch and don't talk to me. I'll turn my back to you, and think chilly, sterile thoughts, and try to get this mountain of paper out of the way.' He gestured towards the stacked paperwork on his desk. 'The worst of it is that I have to _approve_ every decision anyone else makes. Even when the work itself has been done I still have to read everything and sign it in at least three places. I bet you didn't know this army was a bureaucracy.'

'Looks horrible,' Chesta said, with feeling. 'I'm glad all I have to do is follow orders.'

'And I envy you that sometimes. Go on… sit down… if you're bored, you can read any of those books piled up there, although goodness knows whether you'll find much of interest in a heap of treatises on aerodynamics and ballistics and divinatory engineering…'

'Where are _my_ books?' Chesta asked, making himself comfortable.

'There's one in each pile - second from the bottom, usually. Hiding in plain sight.'

'Then I'll read something I _am_ interested in and not bother you.'

It was painfully difficult to concentrate at first, when he was so conscious of the quiet sounds of Chesta's breathing, and of the soft rustle of turning pages, but a sense of urgency made Folken force himself to keep his mind on the work in hand. Things should not be going wrong at this stage. They were supposed to be riding the crest of a wave of beneficient fate; its momentum should be unstoppable. Folken didn't worry so much about sabotage or espionage as much as he did about misfortunes that seemed to happen by chance. If a lot of little things started to go wrong in unpredictable ways - that was the worrying word, _unpredictable_ \- it was a sure sign that there was something unaccounted for in his preparations, and Lord Dornkirk would not be pleased at all. There was the landslide; if that were all he might have written it off as one of those things that just happen, but the weather was turning strange as well, unusually thundery and cool for this time of year.

Rumours were reaching him of signs and portents, and while he understood the science of genetics too well to think that the occasional birth of a two-headed dog really signified anything other than an incestuous local canine population, two-headed dogs and the like accompanied by comet sightings when none were due and reports of dragons in areas from which they had previously retreated suggested that something was up. What, exactly, he had not yet found out, and Lord Dornkirk was reviving his complaints that he couldn't see the future clearly, so it was of the first importance to make sure that everything he _could_ be sure of was taken care of and squared away as it should be. Eventually he succeeded in immersing himself in his work quite conscientiously, and lost track of the time.

When he eventually set aside the last piece of paper and put down his pen, thinking as he did that one of the few true advantages of a mechanical right hand was that you never got writer's cramp, he realised that one reason why he had not been distracted by sounds from Chesta was that he was hardly making any now. The page-turning had stopped and his breathing was slower and quieter. Turning in his chair, he saw that the boy had fallen asleep, his head resting on the arm of the couch and the book slipping from his relaxed hands onto the cushion. Folken put his arm over the back of the chair, rested his chin on his arm and simply looked at him for a few minutes.

What struck him most were the disturbing contrasts in Chesta's appearance; how young he was, but how tired he looked with those tender bluish shadows under his eyes, and how innocent he looked, sleeping with his blond hair tousled and his rosy mouth half open, but how frankly, outrageously blue was the art covering the two visible pages of the book also half open in his hands. Folken recognised that book; he had read it himself with a vague feeling of astonishment overlaying his rising arousal. It was almost all pictures, beautiful, delicately-drawn yet startlingly explicit dreams-on-paper illustrating a series of encounters between various boys and young men, all loosely linked together by what might charitably be called a story about a rather dissolute sorcerer who kept a sort of male harem in his enchanted castle-in-the-clouds. Exactly why he did this was never explained, except that he obviously enjoyed it. It was not the sort of story in which motivation matters much. Folken might have lost interest were it not for one boy in the harem who he found bewitchingly reminiscent of Chesta - except that this boy was actually _resistant_ to seduction and it was the sorcerer's attempts to conquer him that made up most of what passed for the plot, with his eventual surrender, of course, providing what might very aptly be called the climax.

The whole thing was laughably unrealistic, of course, and he was only reading it in an attempt to catch up with Chesta's ideas about sex, which sometimes made him feel rather callow and inadequate. He could not quite rid himself of the feeling that Chesta must be expecting more than he was providing. He felt he had never had anything wonderful to offer to begin with, besides enthusiasm. And wasn't he really just damaging Chesta, spoiling him for the future? He was still reproaching himself for the whole business of the earring. Adding bits and pieces only adulterated his beauty. There was a rather lovely picture in the book of the Chesta-like boy sitting coquettishly on a silk-draped bed, dressed only in looped ropes of iridescent pearls. It was such a sweetly opulent, decadent image; that was what he had found so erotic about it. But you could only have things like that in fantasies, in pictures; he was surprised at himself for trying to realise something like it in everyday life. He knew he knew better. And it had turned out just as badly as you might expect. Chesta really didn't seem to mind. That was the confusing part.

Folken glanced at the small clock on his desk and found that it was a quarter past midnight and he was, frankly, tired to death. _Perhaps I'm getting old_ , he thought with a half-smile. _I used to think nothing of pulling an all-nighter to finish some design or work a train of thought through to its conclusion. I had nothing else to take up my time, once Nariya and Eriya were tucked in._ Probably Chesta had the right idea, going to sleep. If Folken could overlook the changes for the worse that he felt were his doing, he was quite adorable like that. He seemed to be hopelessly sentimental about sleeping people. The first night he had had Van back, when he was still groggy from the initial heavy cocktail of drugs and could barely manage to stagger to the cot at the foot of Folken's bed, Folken had sat up most of the night watching him with a warm sense of contentment and hope.

 _I must try to keep feeling that way_ , he told himself. _There's no reason to be so concerned. I am still doing everything I can to make things turn out right. It's bizarre to think that my situation_ then _seems enviably uncomplicated to me now._

He rose from his chair, arching his back for a moment to relieve the stiffness of long sitting, and picked his way through the piles of books to carefully lift Chesta in his arms. He did not wake up, but nestled in against Folken's chest with a soft unconscious sigh. Folken carried him to the bed, and with some difficulty and trepidation got him in under the covers without disturbing him. He slipped in beside him and tried to settle; he expected to be restless but sleep descended quickly.

A dream began in which he was back in Fanelia. It all looked just as he remembered it when he was about fourteen, before Father fell ill, when the only hint of trouble was the occasional look of sadness in Mother's eyes, when he had been comfortable in his own body all the time. In the dream, he was his present age; he was the King. He had two good whole arms. He sat on a throne and Chesta, honey-scented and dressed in not much more than a length of cream-coloured silk, sat on his lap, with a book open on his knees. For some reason, though, it was one of Van's old storybooks about dragons and heroes. That echo of childhood made him feel rather ashamed that, in the dream, he was becoming aroused, his waking erection pressing up hotly against the boy's warm lazy weight filling his lap.

Folken raised his right hand to stroke Chesta's skin properly at last, and to his intense disappointment it turned out to be a skeleton arm, bleached grey bone. He watched with horror as the graveyard fingers ran down Chesta's arm; the boy sat there placidly as though quite unaware of the touch; he rubbed away an itch under his nose and turned a page. Folken wanted to draw back the dead arm, to break it off at the shoulder and throw it away from him, but he could not control its movement and it crept down to stroke Chesta's thigh. Chesta turned the page again, to a lavishly coloured illustration of a fair-skinned, fragile boy embraced in the coils of a great black and purple serpent. Chesta's fingers brushed over the picture and the serpent seemed to move, its coils sliding oilily over one another, undulating in sinuous rhythm. Folken stared at the living picture, cold horror welling up in the pit of his stomach, expanding to fill his chest. Chesta turned his head and looked up at Folken, and the shadows under his eyes were shaded with purple tattoo, teardrops of ink suspended on his soft downy cheeks. This, somehow, was the most terrifying thing of all; it froze Folken's heart.

'Folken-sama…' he whispered, and kissed him, a heavy, moist, wine-flavoured kiss on the lips.

Somehow the kiss changed the dream. The tattoos on Chesta's face melted into liquid ink and flowed away like pearlescent tears; the creamy silk slipped to the floor and somehow as it fell Folken's clothes were gone too; the book was gone, somewhere or other, and his arms were both firm flesh again. His impressions grew indistinct but intense; Chesta knelt before the throne and his sleek golden head was bowed over Folken's lap, his warm wet mouth softly licking and lapping, teasing and tasting, before it settled to a deep, steady, hungry pull; Folken felt he was being blissfully swallowed whole, engulfed in living heat, the lambent warmth flickering and intensifying and spreading through him until his snap-frozen heart melted and his blood boiled. He buried his fingers in the slippery softness of Chesta's hair, at once caressing him and holding him down, and gave in completely.

He woke up thinking he was still dreaming; what brought him back to reality was the fact that his dead right hand could no longer feel the rough-silk texture of Chesta's hair. At that point the throne disappeared and he knew he was in bed; Chesta was under the covers quietly and devotedly making his dream come true. Feverishly pushing back the quilt, Folken gazed down and felt the peculiar twist of pleasure that came from sight on top of sense of touch; seeing the swollen, flushed shaft disappearing into Chesta's soft mouth, seeing his most intimate skin shining with the wetness of Chesta's kisses; seeing the boy's expression so gently and utterly intent on pleasing him. Chesta had lit the bedroom lamp before beginning. He had wanted to see what he was doing, or had wanted Folken to be able to see. How many people could be that perfect?

'Stop,' Folken whispered, gently pushing at Chesta's head.

'Mmph? Why?' Chesta looked up from under his lashes, and continued delicately licking, the purplish tip of Folken's erection while he waited for an answer.

'Come up and kiss me, pet.'

Chesta obeyed, moving up on hands and knees astride Folken's body, and kissing him with the same gentle deliberation, softly tickling his lips.

'I kissed you when you were asleep,' he breathed, 'but you didn't wake up.'

'I felt it in my dreams.' Folken slid his hands down over Chesta's back to squeeze and separate his buttocks. 'Put me inside you,' he whispered. 'I want you to do it.'

Chesta sat up, a little unsteadily, and reached beneath and behind himself to guide Folken in. His eyes closed and his parted lips trembled a little as he slid the warm, gently pulsing tip into place and held himself poised just on the brink of penetration.

'Hold on - wait…'

Chesta's eyes flickered open. 'Stop sucking it, don't put it in - you don't know what you want tonight,' he complained.

'Just hold on for a moment.' Folken leaned over to open the drawer of his nightstand and fumbled out a small white tube. 'Rub that on it,' he said, feeling ridiculously awkward. 'To - to make it easier for you.'

'You're very considerate tonight,' said Chesta, looking slightly amused, to Folken's further embarrassment.

'I felt horrible thinking about how sore I must be making you,' he explained.

'It's not that bad. You think I'd keep letting you do it if I didn't like it?' Chesta was squeezing out a liberal, not to say extravagant, amount of the clear gel from the tube; it felt strangely cold, although his hands warmed it quickly.

'What if I ordered you?' Folken felt hypnotised by the movements of Chesta's hands. It was hard to speak when he was this excited, but somehow he needed to know.

'You did just now, put me inside you, you said. How's this feel on your cock? Or - hold on - little dragon, that's got to be a name you won't mind me calling it. Let's get this little dragon really slippery.' His hands slid up and down rapidly; Folken was wondering if he could last long enough to get inside him.

'Where'd you learn to call it that? It's - it's ready right _now_ , if you are…'

'My _giant_ dragon,' said Chesta with fervent flattery, and took it inside him in one smooth movement, with a sweet, low moan and a gentle shudder. He seemed so overcome by the invasion that he sat still for a moment, eyes tightly closed, steadying himself with one hand on Folken's tense, flat stomach.

'All right?' Folken whispered. His steel claws were digging into the mattress again; he could not allow them to grip Chesta's thigh as his good hand was, and it was taking all his self-control to wait for Chesta, to prevent his hips bucking and thrusting with all his force.

'Of course it's _all right_ … oh, God… you're my dragon…'

'Ride the dragon…' _And don't laugh at me for saying something like that._ 'Ride him up and down…'

'Yes…' Chesta's cheeks and lips were crimson in the lamplight, deeply flushed with excitement and exertion. 'Folken, can you…' He fumbled for the hand whose thumb was rhythmically rubbing the soft indentation of his groin and guided it across. 'Here, rub my… _my_ little dragon… make him spit fire…'

'Good?'

' _Yes!_ '

Their bodies laboured against each other, slowly, heavily, now more rapidly, Chesta leaning back even as Folken rose up on his elbow, then sat up fully, supporting Chesta's back with the cold palm of his metal hand while his hips pushed up and around, up and around, matching his thundering heartbeat, feeling sweet heat building higher and higher inside him. He licked at the beads of sweat on the boy's chest and neck, still fighting for control; trying to wait for Chesta, trying to give him the orgasm he deserved before letting himself go completely. He tightened the grip of his good hand, rubbing faster and rougher.

Chesta was biting his lip, his hands clawing at Folken's back and shoulders, grabbing for purchase as they slid on sweat and the traces of warm lubricant gel. In the end he locked his arms around Folken's neck and bowed his head over his shoulder, panting wordless hot puffs of breath against his skin, breath that became gasps of rising delight until thick pale spurts broke against Folken's stomach and chest and he collapsed against him with a weak cry of joy.

'Chesta… darling, sweet…' Folken needed only a few more quick thrusts to launch himself into dizzy bliss. He had to slam his clawed hand down to the mattress to keep from tearing at Chesta's narrow back as they clung together at the last moment, before collapsing in a hot sticky tangle of limbs. For some time they could make no sound more intelligible than the rasp of heavy, exhausted breathing. Chesta tried to speak first, while he was still out of breath.

'Ohh… oh… oh ffff… Folken… I - I think I'm _dead_.'

'No… no, don't worry… you're all right… you're safe with me.' He absent-mindedly petted the back of Chesta's sweat-soaked hair, feeling dreamily weak and spent. If only time could stop and a moment like this stretch out forever.

'That was quite nice,' Chesta said, and giggled at his masterly understatement.

'Try not to be silly, pet. Just rest with me a moment. I want to listen to your heart beat.'

They both waited, feeling rather than hearing the slowing pulses in their chests. Folken closed his eyes to the lamplight and emptied his mind; there was no time so blessedly free of thought, of doubt, of regret, as when he had just poured everything he felt into Chesta.

'Not dead after all,' said Chesta, kissed him warmly on the cheek, and rolled off him before Folken was quite ready to accept being separate again.

'I wish I could _live_ inside you,' he groaned, rolling over to hold him closely again.

'I couldn't walk around with you stuck up me,' Chesta whispered back, nuzzling into his neck.

'Do you take _any_ of this seriously?' Folken asked, suddenly hurt and impatient.

Chesta looked dismayed at the change in his lover's tone. 'I'm - I'm sorry, Folken-sama… I was just being silly because I'm so happy… and I thought we were having a joke about the little dragon thing… I thought if… if I acted sentimental you would be annoyed with me.'

' _Why?_ ' Folken looked into Chesta's eyes, stroking his hair back from his face. As his hand passed over his temple, he saw a purple bruise, the edges blurring out just beyond the hairline. 'Chesta, what's this? You're hurt… God, I didn't hit you, did I? I was trying so hard not to… I can't even remember touching there… did I do that in my sleep?'

'Oh, no, no no,' Chesta said, looking embarrassed and gently moving Folken's hand away from the tender bruise. 'That's nothing to do with you.'

'Did you have an accident - fall over?'

'Well, no.'

'Did someone _hit_ you?'

'I'm a soldier, Folken-sama, getting hit happens!' Chesta tried to laugh it off, but Folken would not let him.

'Tell me what happened. Your training shouldn't involve getting beaten around the head. Tell me right now, did someone hit you?'

'Well… yes… Dilandau-sama, today.'

'He _hit_ you?'

'He hits all of us. He always did, that's perfectly normal for him. Don't you know that?'

'Well - yes, but what possible reason could he have had to hit you today?'

'I was disrespectful.'

'I can't believe it.'

'Well, I _was_.'

'When did this happen?' He'd been so busy today that he hadn't checked any of the pet-project surveillance yet. How stupid, how utterly stupid. There wasn't enough of his mind to go round. Having to worry about Chesta too was overstretching him badly.

'When we were all in the locker room before lunch. It wasn't only me, he was annoyed with Dalet too.' Chesta's tone was perfectly matter-of-fact; he seemed to want to reassure Folken. 'Look, it doesn't even hurt unless you poke it or something. I've had much worse smacks than this. Why are you looking so upset? I mean, you’ve always known what he's like. I guess it never bothered you before.'

Folken was having trouble explaining his reaction to himself. He'd had a moment of irrational annoyance that, when he'd been trying so hard to avoid marking Chesta's body in any way, Dilandau had gone and marred his beautiful skin so carelessly. But that wasn't the core of it.

'I mean,' Chesta pressed on, 'are you upset about Dalet getting hit too? And all of us getting hit for ages before now? Or do you only care about me, now, because I'm your… pet?'

'Well… I… I don't know… it's not that I think it's all right for other people to be abused as long as _you're_ all right… but I think it had to happen to someone I love for me to realise how wrong it is.'

'I see,' said Chesta, looking as though he did not see at all. Folken wondered if he had noticed the 'someone I love.' For some reason he was nervous about telling Chesta directly that he loved him, or believed he loved him. Slipping it in obliquely like that was easier, except he was not sure it got the message across. Or perhaps Chesta knew he was loved and took it for granted, as easily as he accepted all Folken's physical tenderness. There was no way to be sure without starting a conversation that might end very badly for him.

'But Folken-sama,' Chesta said anxiously, 'you're not going to say anything to Dilandau-sama, are you? Please don't.'

'Why are you defending him?'

'Well, firstly won't people wonder why you're saying something about it now when you never did before?' Chesta looked very earnest about this. 'And I wasn't even going to say anything to you about it, only you asked. It honestly isn't a problem. Please don't say anything.'

'But you said you wanted to talk to me about Dilandau-sama. You said you were worried about something to do with him. Isn't this it?'

'No… I wanted to tell you I'm worried about _him_. It's - it's not what he's doing. That's normal for him, I'd worry if he _wasn't_ like that. I think you might get angry with me for saying this, but it's something about your brother.'

'What about Van?' Folken asked, frowning.

'I - I really don't want to say this, you understand,' Chesta said, stalling. 'I hate speaking ill of people. I know it's usually not fair, I mean, there's usually a perfectly good reason for things, and I'm sure there'll be a good reason for this that I just don't understand, I'm only worried because I _don't_ understand and I’m sure you could, you know so much more than I do.'

'This is becoming oddly reminiscent of the first day you came here. You look as though you're nerving yourself up to tell me something outrageous. Spit it out, Chesta, you know I don't breathe fire. What's Van done to upset you?'

'It's not me,' Chesta protested, 'I told you, it's about Dilandau-sama. If it was just _me_ I wouldn't say anything.'

'Has Van been bullying him again?' Folken asked wearily. 'I hoped we'd seen the last of that. But really, Chesta dearest, I think this may do Dilandau good in the long run. He's never had to cope with anyone standing up to him in that way before. It was hard for him to cope with initially because of the shock, I'm sure, but he should be over that by now. And Van has settled a good deal since then.'

'You didn't see what happened today,' Chesta said darkly.

'He hasn't injured him again already, has he?'

'No… well, they had a fight… Dilandau-sama did sort of start it… it's very embarrassing because I was involved too. You're going to be really angry with me about something I said.' Although Folken's arm was still around Chesta's shoulders, the boy had drawn his own arms back against his chest, a defensive gesture, although his hands were clasped under his chin in a pleading manner.

'Chesta, have I ever been really angry with you?'

'I don’t _think_ so, but I've been trying hard not to annoy you.'

'Just tell me what happened. I promise to hear you out and be reasonable.'

With a distinct air of trepidation, which Folken found a little hurtful as it seemed so untrusting, Chesta unfolded the story of the day. When he came to his attempt to turn the tables on Van and divert attention from himself, he cringed as though half-expecting to be struck. Folken insisted that he continue, making a considerable effort not to show how much this news annoyed him, to prove his point about being reasonable. Chesta was obviously not sensible in every situation, and his loyalty above all to Dilandau seemed to be his worst blind spot. Folken found himself wondering what Chesta would do in a situation where he had to choose between Dilandau's and Folken's wishes. Still, it all sounded like a fairly minor matter, the kind of verbal harrassment often directed at an unpopular boy, until Chesta came to the fight, and what Van had said, done and made Dilandau say.

'It - it wasn't _true_ what Van-sama said, was it?' he asked Folken. 'I mean, if Dilandau-sama had made a pass at him he would have said something to you, right?'

'It's certainly not true,' said Folken, thoughtfully, 'at least not that it happened on the first night. I don't think they've been alone together at any other time. And you'd say you've never seen Dilandau behave as though he was attracted to him?'

'Well, of course not!' Chesta said indignantly. 'So was Van-sama just giving Dilandau-sama a taste of his own medicine?'

'It's hard to be sure,' Folken said. 'He doesn't tell me _everything_. I suppose it's equally possible that you touched a nerve with what you said. Perhaps Van _has_ been reading your book, and _does_ have feelings in that direction, but the teasing made him so angry and upset about it that it got twisted round into aggression.'

'What, seriously?' Chesta looked stunned. 'But the other night he was talking about how he was attracted to Serena.'

'Celena,' Folken corrected him.

'Whoever. See, you were right, I did forget. So if he likes girls he wouldn't be interested in Dilandau-sama that way, would he?'

'I really don't know,' Folken said. 'I understand there are people who can go either way. That's a very disturbing thought.'

'I'll say,' said Chesta. 'I don't think Dilandau-sama would like Van-sama going after him.'

'And _I_ don't think Dilandau is at all the kind of person I'd want Van to get involved with.'

'Why not?' Chesta demanded, sounding offended on Dilandau's behalf.

'Have you forgotten what's on the side of your head? I know he's important to you, but you must concede that Dilandau is not a particularly nice person.'

'You're saying that because you don't understand him,' Chesta said. 'You need to live with him to understand him. He really cares about us. He's hard on us but if anyone else tried to hurt us he'd never rest until he'd punished them. Dilandau-sama takes care of us, Folken-sama, he's made us what we are today. I was nothing before I came to him! I was such a weak little baby, I didn't have anything to take pride in or anyone to look up to, and he changed all of that. When he disciplines us, he's showing he loves us. He's a _wonderful_ person.'

'Chesta,' said Folken wearily, 'I have known Dilandau since he was a small child. It may not have been a close relationship, but I've observed him enough to know what he's like. I don't deny that he has a very strong sense of loyalty, or that he's protective of those under him, or that he's a destructive genius inside a guymelef, or that he's a charismatic leader. But I know very clearly that he is also narcissistic, sadistic, hysterical and as self-centred as a gyroscope. The qualities that make him a good captain of the Dragonslayers are not necessarily the qualities that would make him a good…' He faltered, looking for a word.

'Boyfriend?'

'If you will… for my brother.'

'I suppose they are too much alike,' Chesta said musingly.

'That's a very peculiar way of looking at it.'

'Well, when people fight that much it's usually because they're too much alike. Van-sama actually said something about it once, that you hate your own qualities most when you see them in others.'

'I think you're just making a generalisation,' Folken said, rather crushingly, since he didn't really have an answer for that and didn't want it to be as perceptive as it sounded.

'Well, I know you know more about it than I do,' Chesta said humbly. 'That was only an idea. Sorry.' He looked up at Folken beseechingly. 'Are you angry with me? For my part in it?'

Folken sighed, impatiently. 'What would be the point? It wouldn't change anything. And I don't even know that you really think you were wrong, only that you don’t like displeasing me. It seems that as far as you're concerned anything is justifiable if it's for Dilandau.'

'It's not like that,' Chesta said plaintively. 'I made a mistake because I wanted to help Dilandau-sama, yes, but I know it was a mistake. I had no right to talk to Van-sama like that. He should have knocked me down for being disrespectful too.'

'And I suppose you'd think he was wonderful too, if he did?' Folken said sourly. 'Would you think more of me if I roughed you up a little occasionally?'

'I - I'd understand if you had a _reason_. You're so patient with me. I know I'm really lucky that you're gentle with me, it's so much better than I deserve.'

'Chesta!' Folken was so exasperated by his self-deprecation that he inadvertently shook him. 'I will _not_ listen to you saying things like that. It's ridiculous, it's masochistic. I really don't think you understand who cares about you more. How can you see abuse as proof of love and not realise that I'm gentle with you because I love you a hundred times more than a selfish creature like Dilandau ever could? I hate myself when I hurt you. I hate thinking of the toll my lust must be taking on your body, I hate to see how tired I make you with all this clandestine late-night nonsense that I can't do without, I hate to see you cringing and ducking your head because you seriously think I would take my anger out on you physically, and I hate to see you treating Dilandau like a little tin god when you're worth ten of him!' He realised he was almost shouting into Chesta's face. 'And I hate myself for raging at you like that,' he finished lamely. 'I'm sorry.' He let go of Chesta's shoulders and sat up with his head in his hands, unable to look the boy in the eye.

'Please don't hate yourself,' Chesta said faintly, behind him. The mattress creaked as he sat up too and gingerly touched Folken's back. 'I think you're wonderful already. Folken-sama, you're a hero. Look at everything you've done for Zaibach.'

'And look at everything I've done for Fanelia.'

'But you had to,' Chesta said, clearly puzzled by the bitterness in Folken's voice. 'You had a good reason.'

'What do you think my good reason was, Chesta?'

'I… I don't know, I… don't get angry with me for saying it again, but I know you know more about it than I do. I can't judge your reasons.'

'You _are_ judging them, as good. Without knowing anything about what I'm really like. I treasure your good opinion of me, Chesta, but if I wasn't such a coward you would know the truth and despise me just as you should.'

Cautiously, Chesta put his arms around Folken and leaned his cheek on his shoulder. 'Then please don’t ever tell me about that. I want to always love you.'

'It isn't me you love, it's your idea of me.' _You love me. Oh, my God, you love me._ Why _do you love me?_

'But if me loving you makes you even a little happier, then it's worth it, isn't it? What I hate seeing is how miserable and lonely you are inside, always. I can't believe you're a bad person. Bad people don't love people and look after them the way you do. You may have done bad things, but just don't tell me about that and I'll love you for all the good there is in you. Anyway, if _you_ were bad you wouldn't feel sorry for anything you might have done.'

'What you're offering me is completely unfair to you.'

'It's what I want. This is all the sentimental stuff I didn't want to say in case it put you off me. I didn’t know if you wanted someone to love you, or just to have sex with you and take your mind off your day. I know I make you feel better that way. If loving you helps too, I want you to believe I love you before anything else. When you're being all self-hating like you do, please just say to yourself "but I can't be completely rotten, because Chesta loves me." If that counts for anything, I mean.'

'I absolutely must not accept that,' said Folken, 'and I think it's further proof of my rottenness, as you put it, that I want to accept it so much. You really shouldn't keep comforting me, Chesta, I don't deserve it.'

'Why did you start it all with me if you didn’t think you deserved it?'

'I don't know. I really don't. I think if I were honest I would have to say it was just that I got very excited and stopped thinking with my brain.'

'You wouldn't be a man if you didn't occasionally think with something else.' Chesta kissed Folken's shoulder. 'You could say it was your heart.'

'Could I indeed.'

'Well, do you love me?'

'I love you as I never expected to love anyone. If you think being loved by a thing like me is worth anything. It strikes me as more of a curse than a gift.'

'This is when you say, "but I can't be completely rotten, because Chesta loves me."' Chesta paused. 'And Van-sama loves you too, you know.'

'He shouldn't either. He doesn't really know me.'

'Who really knows anyone?' Chesta asked. 'You and I both think we know Dilandau-sama, but we've each got a completely different idea of him. I think all you ever _do_ know is your idea of someone. Perhaps you're being too hard on yourself. Perhaps if you told me, or him, about whatever it is that you think is so unforgivable, we would still love you anyway.'

'He wouldn't,' said Folken. 'He really wouldn't.'

'Well then don't tell him. Don't hurt him that way. Make him happy, and make me happy too, and redeem yourself that way.'

'How can I redeem myself for lies when making you happy means telling you lies?'

'I don't know. Don't you like paradoxes?'

Folken took a deep breath and let it out again slowly. 'I think this is one of those late-at-night conversations in which one gets badly out of one's depth. It's probably better for both of us to try to go to sleep. We can talk about it again when we're not so tired and emotional.'

'Or not.' Chesta was ready to let it go.

'Or not,' Folken agreed. He lay back carefully and settled Chesta beside him, guiding the boy's tousled head to his good shoulder and pulling up the covers to keep him warm.

'Folken-sama, what do you think you'll do about Van-sama and Dilandau-sama?'

'I don't know yet. I'll think of something. I need to study the problem before I decide.'

'I'll trust your judgement.'

Folken reached over and put out the lamp. Darkness settled in the room, and quiet came with it. _If only we had gone right to sleep after making love,_ he thought. _I'd be happily unconscious now and wouldn't have all these things to think of. And all these things I won't think of. I don't want to make up my mind. I'm starting to see the shape of the future. Van and Dilandau… perhaps it runs in families, who knows. The business with Celena baffles me as much as anything else. How can I intervene without showing I know more than I should? It would destroy Van's trust in me. I need him to trust me, he needs to stay, if he leaves everything will become unstable. That's honestly the reason. His trust in me is what keeps him here and contributes to the success of the plan. Once it's all over, once we achieve our goal, I'll tell him the truth and accept what comes. And Chesta… well, I've done it all to give them happiness. I didn't expect to find it myself. This is all some caprice of Fate, and it will probably slip away from me as easily as it arrived. I must just treasure it in the present, do as he says, and hope for him to end up better off. No more war, no more suffering, no more subjugation, having to live for others' purposes… if nothing else, I can give him a better world to live in without me._

 _Half an hour ago I was vigorously sodomising this boy, defiling him, and rejoicing in every second of it because it gave me a few moments of escape from my own problems. But I lie here thinking I care about him, and want to give him a better world, and sacrifice my own happiness for his. I may have established some sort of new record for emotional hypocrisy._

 _I'll have to have some kind of talk with Van, anyway._


	11. A Bit of a Chat

The brothers watched each other over the dining table. Van was watchful because he had the feeling Folken was going to spring something on him, was building up to say something undesirable. It was there in his eyes, in the line of tension assumed by his jaw. Van felt that he had to be very careful. The idea had occurred to him that Folken might know about what he had done and was going to criticise him for it. But which transgression did Folken know about; the fight or the flight? He had been so emotional yesterday that some of his memories seemed confused. He was sure it had been very wrong to spread his wings. Mother would not like it, Folken would not like it. Folken had inherited Mother's eyes, that deep claret colour, and Van was wondering whether he would see the same light of sorrowful reproach in them. He had never been able to please Mother; he was never any consolation to her. Her elder son had been so precious to her that she braved the dragons and went into the forest after him and left Van behind. You didn't have to be a genius - like Folken, of course - to work it out.

Folken watched Van, wishing his eyes could tell him more. All he had was the soundless surveillance footage - which had been designed only to show where people were and what they were doing, not to betray subtleties like what they said to each other and their tone, because when he had designed the system he had never expected to need that information. Of course, it would have been more useful still if he had had a machine for telling him what people were thinking. And then there was what was before him, Van looking edgy and keyed-up, shifting between eating as if he had been starved and pushing the food around his plate until it mixed into mush. Yesterday's duel had looked bizarre on the monitor this morning. Because of the angle at which the boys stood to the viewer, you could not see the lick that Chesta said had taken place while they stood locked together in that strange entangled position. Van's head moved closer to Dilandau's, but his face was invisible. Lacking visual evidence, Folken had found himself doubting Chesta's word; it was so hard to believe such a thing of Van. _But why should Chesta lie so maliciously? To help Dilandau by getting Van in trouble, of course. No. I can't believe that of him either. Not my Chess. It isn't in him to manipulate me like that. I am the one who uses people, not Chesta._

'It's a funny thing,' Folken said abruptly, breaking the heavy silence that had extended for most of the time since Van had come in and they had greeted each other, 'but I was thinking of Balgus today. I had such a clear mental image of his face, with that huge scar where he lost his eye - and of course his whole body was criss-crossed with scars, a net of them. He was really such a fearsome-looking man, but I can't recall either of us ever being frightened of him at all. We had never known him to look any different; the scars were just part of him, and he was our friend.' He took a sip of wine, giving Van the opportunity to say something if he wanted to. He let the opportunity pass, rather sullenly.

'When I think about it, he must have suffered terrible injuries all his life,' Folken went on. 'It's a wonder some of them didn't kill him. I found myself wondering how I would feel if I were so extensively and visibly scarred. This claw is one thing, but I can conceal it. The marks on my face are quite another, because I chose them. I suppose Dilandau could tell us how it feels, although I daresay his attitude to it is quite different from Balgus's.'

'Balgus was never vain,' Van said, in apparent agreement. 'But Dilandau doesn't even know what it's _like_ to be in danger for his life. He needs a teacher… like Balgus,' he finished, rather in the manner of an afterthought, without which the implication of the sentence would have been rather different.

'Well, you know, you and I carry on Balgus' teachings, the elements of his style and philosophy as a warrior,' Folken said. 'So does anyone he trained. If I think about it, every day I can catch myself in habits of thought and behaviour that I know were imprinted upon me by Balgus. He gave me the self-discipline that has gotten me where I am today. Of course, he also gave me a few habits and ideas I've had to train myself out of. He was dedicated to the code of honour to the point where he sometimes made himself vulnerable by refusing to seize an unfair advantage. I'd like to live in a world where that strategy was effective, but I'm afraid I have to be more pragmatic than that every day. And some of his ideas I've simply come to disagree with, based on what I've learned for myself.' He glanced at Van, trying to see if there was any reaction to this discussion of the mentor he had so recently and painfully lost - especially since one instance of Folken's pragmatism had been the cause of that loss. Could he make that mental connection, or would the implanted ideas prohibit it? His face only indicated, perhaps, pleasant reminiscence, tinged with nostalgia.

'I think of Balgus every time I catch myself slouching,' Van said. 'I can hear him barking at me to stand up straight and try to look as if I'd been "brought up, not dragged up".'

'All those Balgusian phrases,' Folken agreed, smiling. '"Cold water makes a man of you." That was a favourite. Of course, a hot shower gets you much cleaner than a cold bath, but then according to Balgus too much washing makes you weak.'

'"It's the sweat that keeps a man clean",' Van quoted. 'And "hard work never killed anyone". He should've written a book. Advice to young men. What were some others?'

'"Just ignore it and it'll go away",' Folken suggested. 'Oh, and my favourite, "stop it or you'll go blind." I was sixteen before I found out that wasn't true, and the cruel irony of it was that by then I didn't want to any more.' He raised his clawed right hand expressively. Van blushed and blinked in confusion.

'What do you mean it's not true?' he said.

'I'd hoped I was the only person that gullible. Van, do you seriously think masturbation makes you go blind? If that were true the entire male population would be sightless. Or at least wearing very thick glasses.'

'I wouldn't,' said Van, sounding stung.

'Don't tell me you _never_.'

'Well, not since Balgus warned me about it! Anyway, you just said _you_ don't.'

'Training myself to automatically use my left hand when I went to the toilet, so as not to accidentally hurt myself, was difficult enough; I was discouraged by that and I was so horrified by my _right_ hand that I tried to put the whole thing out of my mind. For a while I tried rubbing against a pillow, but it wasn't good enough. It was just frustrating. And so I suppose I simply suppressed all thoughts of it in self-defence. I was so unhappy and preoccupied for most of the time in the very early days that I very seldom felt aroused anyway. I even stopped having wet dreams. And later I was far too busy. Am I embarrassing you? We haven't really talked about anything so personal before, but I think brothers should be able to be honest without being ashamed. We could even have a little laugh about it, I suppose. It wasn't at all funny at the time, of course; the most humiliating moment of my life to date was when he caught me in that little outhouse behind the kitchen gardens with, if I recall, a fistful of Mother's cold cream. I was…' he frowned, thinking '…fourteen. It was sheer bad luck. I hadn't latched the door properly and he didn't know I was in there. He gave me a full-scale lecture, being very concerned about my health and morals, and I more or less wanted to die, but really, apart from furtively misappropriating toiletries for slightly unsavoury purposes, what had I done wrong?'

'So - so it's really not dangerous?' Van asked hesitantly. He looked as though one of the certainties of his world was being undermined.

'Absolutely not. I'm inclined to think that for a normal boy it's rather healthy. It lets him come to grips, if you'll pardon the expression, with his sexuality and get comfortable with it before he becomes seriously involved with anyone else. It also lets him relieve any frustration he might be feeling without _involving_ someone else which could have serious consequences. It doesn’t do any physical harm as long as he's sensible, and of course it feels wonderful. Feeling wonderful never killed anyone. Or blinded them. I hope you can excuse my heresy, my subversion of the Balgusian creed.' He smiled gently, wryly.

'Well - well, how do you mean _sensible_?' Van asked. He still looked acutely embarrassed, but was clearly trying to take this in a calm, mature manner.

'Obviously, if you overdo it it becomes unhealthy, like anything else. Moderation keeps you healthy. It's extremes, like constantly, obsessively touching yourself, or total, morbid abstinence, that do the damage.'

'But you _have_ to abstain,' Van said, looking thoroughly worried for Folken's sake. 'Do you think it's harming you?'

'I think I'm all right,' Folken said judiciously. 'As I said, the dreams stopped and the feelings largely went away. I accepted that sex was not going to be a part of my life a long time ago, nor normal relationships of any kind. I've rather been set apart from the rest of the human race by my condition. Except, of course, I hope my relationship with _you_ can still be a normal one. I sometimes almost find it easier to get along with people who _aren't_ human - with Nariya and Eriya, for example.'

'That's right,' said Van, 'are they back yet? You said I could meet them, and I'd really like to.'

 _Right now I don't know if they'd be safe with you. Supposing you took against them as you have against Dilandau?_ 'Not yet,' Folken said. It didn't seem possible to tell Van the whole truth about anything any more. First he told him the truth about masturbation, then he told him a string of total lies about his own sexual experience, or lack thereof. At least, he gave the impression that nothing had changed since he came to that acceptance of celibacy, and omitting to mention such a huge change was surely equal to quite a large direct lie. He was becoming so _conscious_ of his lies; it was getting harder to think of them as an objectively planned strategy for an important goal. Personal was not the same as important, but it kept _seeming_ personal.

'Oh well,' said Van easily, 'I expect it'll be quite soon. You'll be glad to have them back too, won't you?'

'Yes, of course.' _I_ am _glad to have them back. I've seen them several times since their return, and they are as beautiful and strong and fearless as ever. I am so proud of them that my heart aches with it. My heart… that's the thing. I am seeing them differently. I love them like daughters, I think. Thank goodness. I couldn't believe what Van thought…_

'You've gone all quiet,' Van observed.

'Just thinking.'

'What about?'

'Love, and desire, and how easy it is to mistake one for the other. People make themselves terribly unhappy that way, Van. Another terrible mistake that is often made, particularly by young men, is to assume that the desire for sex equals readiness for sex. They rush ahead and get into physical relationships, and either find themselves emotionally involved in ways for which they are not prepared, or else have shallow, exploitative liaisons and fall into a pattern of promiscuity that is never justified or redeemed by any real tenderness or connection to another.'

'Oh,' said Van, looking a little overwhelmed. 'Um - I'm not going to do that, don't worry. I'd never let you down like that.'

'Well, it's yourself you would be letting down,' Folken pointed out gently. 'You are capable of better, and you deserve better. I suppose I was thinking of your feelings for Celena; of how you quite wisely backed off when you felt you were becoming too intimate. I want you to understand that feelings of desire for another are not wrong - they are nothing to be ashamed of, or suppressed - but they don't have to be acted upon directly. Perhaps you would feel differently about spending time with Celena if, knowing what you now know, you were able to satisfy yourself physically, and didn't feel it had to be all or nothing?' _And Dilandau can have a little relapse and disappear for good, for all I care. And will you make the connection? I can't tell. If I spaced them out by a few days, as I did this time, you might not. You're really not terribly observant. I suppose it's because you're conditioned to accept whatever I tell you; it reduces the overall likelihood of you thinking in a questioning way._

Van shook his head emphatically. 'Wouldn't work. I mean - if we're being honest, and you really don't mind hearing - I was having wet dreams every night, so the, um, the _feelings_ were certainly getting out, but it didn't make me feel any better. I told you, brother, it wasn't because I was scared of going too far, it was because it was distracting me from what I have to do for _you_.'

'Well, you can't live for me your whole life,' Folken said, feeling a little annoyed. He had just offered Van a perfectly reasonable compromise; why did he have to be so stubborn? 'And just because I can't have a normal relationship, do you think I'd want to deny you that happiness?'

'I - I know, brother… but I don't think either of us can think about things like that until we've fulfilled our destiny,' Van said, looking sincerely dismayed at having said the wrong thing. 'I never meant you'd try to spoil things for me. I know you only want me to be happy. And it really does make me happy to serve you. I - I want to dedicate myself to that first, and then when it's done I could think about how I'll spend the rest of my life, and who with.'

'And in the meantime,' Folken said bluntly, 'do you think you're never going to feel any stirrings of desire? You're never going to have to deal with that? Ignoring strong emotions is very dangerous, Van. They can become deflected and perverted into other shapes. It's not unknown for sexual drives to be sublimated into aggression. Why do you think Dilandau loves a good fight so much?'

'What,' said Van, struggling to keep up, 'you mean Dilandau's attracted to someone he can't be with, or that he's denying himself? That doesn't sound like him at _all_.' He paused, thinking about it. ' _I_ like a good fight, what are you saying about _me?_ ' He paused again. 'Are you saying something about me fighting with _Dilandau?_ ' His mouth dropped open and he stared in wordless indignation for a moment. He had never expected the attack to come from this direction. 'It is _not_ like that! Why does everyone think it is? Did someone say something to you? One of them? They did, didn't they? They're all trying to undermine me! They hate me, and it's not _fair!_ He made _fun_ of me and they all _laughed!_ They're the perverts, not me, they're the ones who think of those things.'

Folken raised his eyebrows. 'What _are_ you talking about?' he asked.

'They all - ' Van stopped, and started again, leaning across the table and speaking rapidly in a low, intense voice, as though afraid he would be overheard. 'There's this _book_ and I bet they've all read it. It's - it's full of _dirty_ things, brother, things you probably wouldn't even have thought of. I confiscated it. I - I read part of it to see what they were talking about. It's disgusting, honestly, I can't get it out of my head. I mean it upset me so much. That's why.' He sat back again and folded his arms defensively.

'You're not making very much sense,' Folken said. 'This book you've confiscated - what is it about?'

'About sex, obviously.'

'Sex doesn't have to be dirty, Van.'

'No, but this is! It's about _boys_ , doing things to each _other_ , the whole story is just an excuse to describe them groping all over each other, sucking each other's cocks and butt-fucking and - I'm sorry, Folken, I know you don't like dirty language like that.' Van looked ashamed of himself; he also looked deeply agitated, so tense you could almost hear his nerves twanging. His eyes were very bright and there was a high colour in his face.

'It's all right,' Folken said, 'I understand you didn't mean to be offensive. What bothers me is not the words but the way people use them. _Fuck_ is such a violent verb. It seems to degrade something that I want to believe is more complex and beautiful. Terms like _cock_ and _dick_ always seem to be used in a vulgar spirit. They almost seem to insult the body. That's why I'm uncomfortable with them.' _And also because I am a hypocrite, and can't admit that what I myself do is fucking of the first order. I'm too scared of my own cock to call it by any honest name. Little dragon, indeed - I'd almost forgotten that term. A monster in my pants, how appropriate._

'Well - well that's just what this book is like,' Van said. 'I mean - it doesn't _exactly_ make it sound violent and vulgar, it sort of sounds very excited about it and like it wants you to be excited too -'

'Were you?' Folken asked mildly.

Van was once more struck dumb. He stared at Folken with such outraged shock and obvious guilt that he really felt quite sorry for him.

'Don't say anything for a moment,' he said quickly. 'Just listen to me. If you were, _it's all right._ If thinking about that kind of thing made you want to touch yourself, _it's all right._ And if you want to use that book to help you masturbate, that's all right too. You're not being a pervert. You're just being human. People _like_ sex. It's healthy! If you weren't interested at your age, _that_ would be abnormal. And reading about it, and fantasising about it are, as far as I'm concerned, simply part of growing up. Don't let yourself get the idea that you're disgusting. You really aren't, and I would hate for you to be unhappy because you thought so.'

'But,' said Van, in a small voice, obviously offering the last piece of contrary argument he could think of, 'it's boys and boys. Isn't that wrong?'

'No. If you like boys that's fine.' _Not that I'm really sure I believe that, whatever Chesta says, but the less you worry, quite frankly, the better._

'I - I like girls _too_ ,' said Van, as if hoping this was a mitigating factor.

'Good! You'll have the best of both worlds.'

'Now you're just making fun of me,' Van protested.

'I'm only trying to make you see that you don't have to take it so seriously. Or rather, do take it seriously, it's important, but don't get so wrought up about it. Enjoy it. Be happy. That's what I want for you, remember?'

'I - are you _serious?_ ' asked Van. 'About just enjoying it?' He seemed unable to believe that such a thing was possible. Authority figures simply did not say things like that.

'Yes. Go ahead. Get another book if you'd like. I'm not sure where people buy them, but I daresay you could find out. I'd offer to make enquires for you but I'm sure you want to take care of that for yourself. It's a very personal thing.'

'Well, yes,' said Van. He frowned in thought for a moment. 'Folken, is it actually normal for brothers to have conversations like this?'

'Oh, no. As far as I know it's highly unusual.' Folken had the decency to look mildly sheepish. 'I hope I haven't said anything very inappropriate. I only have experience of being an older brother to a little boy. I'm still working out how to take care of a young man. Anyway, I hope I've been able to set your mind at rest.'

'I think if Balgus could hear us he'd knock our heads together and tell us to take a ten-mile run and have a bath in ice water… but I do feel better. I suppose.' Van flashed a brief, nervous smile. ‘Um – we don’t have to talk about this any more, do we?’

‘Not unless you have questions. I’ll do my level best to answer them.’

‘No, no, that’s all right.’

‘Good. That’s very good.’ Folken looked at his plate as if it held inspiration. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot to ask. How was your flight yesterday? Good to get out in the open air?’

‘I wasn’t in the open air, I was in a guymelef,’ Van said, quickly.

‘Do you enjoy flying an Alseides?’

‘It’s all right.’ Van tried to think of something specific to say; he felt that if he couldn’t give satisfactory answers he would somehow be giving himself away. ‘It’s got a very responsive steering system. You don’t have to give it as much of a push as Escaflowne.’

‘We’ll soon be upgrading to the new model, the Oreades,’ Folken said. ‘They’re still being manufactured, but it’s a design I’m rather proud of; considerably more powerful and versatile. Of course, things are going so well that they may never have to be deployed, but it would be improvident not to prepare for all possibilities.’

‘That’ll be interesting,’ Van said politely. 'Have you found a way to make the cloaks work in flight mode? Why won't they work then, anyway?' For the rest of the lunch hour he asked so many technical questions about guymelefs that there was no opportunity to discuss anything else. This seemed to make him feel a good deal more comfortable.

When Van was about to leave, Folken stopped him at the door with a hand on his shoulder.

‘One more thing, Van. I’ve just been wondering how you are getting on with Dilandau, now he’s back from his sick leave.’

‘He’s… been getting on my nerves a bit,’ Van said. Folken wondered for a moment whether he, too, was going to lie by omission. If he did, there was something very wrong indeed. ‘We had another fight. But no-one got hurt this time.’ He was obviously holding back a lot, struggling with the compulsion to be completely open with his brother. It made Folken wonder. There might be other things he had not told him; things about which Folken had not thought to ask him directly.

‘That’s something, at any rate. Please try to be patient with him, Van. Self-mastery isn’t easy, but you will need to learn to overcome your personal feelings when they threaten to become disruptive. My advice would be to ignore him as much as possible. Perhaps you might even let him think he’s getting his way sometimes. Channel your annoyance into something positive instead.’

Van looked as though this was the last thing he would like to do. ‘But someone ought to stand up to him,’ he said. ‘He just makes me so _angry_. I want to break him.’

‘He’s cracked already,’ Folken said dryly. ‘Do you really think your efforts are necessary?’

‘I mean break him as you do a horse. Master him.’

 _And ride him? Oh, come on,_ Folken reproached himself. _It’s_ Dilandau. _Van has better taste than that, surely._

‘Good luck,’ he said dubiously. ‘But for my sake, please don’t go over the top.’

 

Van walked back to his room feeling more muddled than anything else. On the one hand, he had a strange feeling of being set free. Suddenly, it appeared, nothing that he really wanted to do was wrong. He was beginning to remember his recent dreams, but this meant that what they were about wasn’t wicked or dirty after all. He wasn’t sure exactly what he would do now the ban on self-love was lifted, since his early experiments two or three years ago had been in only the most tentative stages when they had been rather horribly arrested by Balgus walking into his room without knocking as usual. What had made it so much worse was how mutual the embarrassment had been; Balgus had looked so genuinely _appalled_ and that made him more ashamed. He had been thoroughly scared off from trying anything of the sort again. He wasn’t sure he knew exactly what to do; wasn’t sure what he _could_ do. It was time to start trying things out again, he supposed, seeing how his body responded. There was a lingering sense of guilt around such thoughts, but that was just silly; if Folken said it was all right then of course it was.

But _why_ would Folken say that? It was, just as he'd admitted, a very unusual thing for an elder brother to advise his younger brother about. In fact, thinking back over the conversation - he had to do that now, while it was fresh in his mind, because in a few hours he would probably not be able to remember it exactly, only the gist and his emotional impressions - he had an odd sense that Folken had deliberately steered the conversation in that direction; had _wanted_ to bring up the subject and had introduced that of Balgus for the purpose, as a stratagem. That, Van thought, was not exactly respectful to Balgus' memory. It all began to seem rather dubious.

The problem was, he couldn't think why Folken might want to do that. It was ridiculous to suspect someone of something when you couldn't think of any motive they could have.

 _I'm getting so suspicious of everyone that I'm even doubting him, looking for hidden agendas so hard that I start to see them where perhaps there aren't any. Really, it must just be because all that kind of thing has been on my mind so much. It's like something is bubbling up from underneath. Silly of me. I'm just tense, that's all, and he saw what was wrong and gave me some kindly advice about it. He's very perceptive. He must know what's wrong. He must know better than me. And he… he's trying to free me from… I'm so hemmed in by the beliefs I was brought up with…that's right, isn't it?_

This last thought was interrupted by a sudden sharp pulse of pain in Van's head. He stopped unsteadily and put a hand to the wall just in case, the other hand pressing against his forehead until the worst of it passed. It did pass, after all; within about a minute it had faded to nothing more than a dull headache, the kind he had so often these days when he was worried about something.

 _Well, there, you see, that's why I shouldn't be dissecting this in my head, overthinking it. My head is telling me right there that it doesn't want to be bothered with that kind of nonsense. I ought to pay more attention to what my body's telling me. I'm not clever like Folken. I shouldn't try to be. I'm lucky to have a brother like him, someone so understanding, not trying to make me feel guilty about things. He didn't say 'you'll make me sad,' he didn't say 'you'll go blind,' he said 'it's all right'._

His head felt a lot clearer now; this must be the right way to go. Well… perhaps not _clearer_ … more comfortable, as though sharp edges were softening and harsh light was dimming.

 _I can't help feeling like I know too much about him now, though. It was almost as though he was giving me pointers - the thing about the pillow, and the cold cream - I never asked for details! In a book is one thing, but when someone you_ respect _talks to you about that stuff it's really very… well, I didn't know what to do with my face. I certainly didn't want to share_ my _Balgus-walking-in-on-me story. He was just trying to be kind. It's not his fault if he's a little awkward or odd sometimes, it's as he said, he's been set apart from most people. Poor Folken! Imagine being afraid of part of your own body, feeling as though your own hand might hurt you. You wouldn't feel at home in yourself._

 _Now, I must pull myself together. Go to training. They'll just assume I was lying low this morning. They won't say anything about me not being there. No-one has to know where I was, and I was really careful to keep in cloud cover. If Folken knew he would have said something._

Surely no-one had seen him leap from the outer catwalk of the fortress and fly.


	12. Tumble

Chesta was unsure of how much to worry about Dilandau-sama. At times that morning he had seemed fine, quite normal, his forceful self. He had made some very biting comments about Chesta's pierced ear, which was much less inflamed now. He had led them through a vigorous exercise routine, saying they had all gotten pasty and weak without him to make them stay in shape (which was untrue and unfair, but no-one was about to say anything). He had boxed Migel's ears for moving too slowly.

But there were also times when he seemed to lose his focus, when the pupils of his eyes contracted as though he was looking into strong light and his face lost all expression. He would forget what he was doing, apparently. Things that would normally have been extremely important to him were also forgotten. After his pre-lunch shower, he had dressed but only gotten as far as shirt, pants and boots, because he was moving so slowly, almost as though he were asleep on his feet. The lunch bell had rung while they were all staring at him anxiously, and he had looked at them as though waking and said 'What?' Then he had led the way to the mess hall without attempting to put on his shinguards, his overskirt, his jacket - he left those precious layers lying on the end of his bed like a snake's cast skin.

The worst of it was that it was impossible to say anything solicitous like 'Are you all right?' To imply that you thought Dilandau-sama was _not_ all right was a serious insult and would only be met by sharp chastisement and a sharper slap. Everyone tried to look as though they did not even notice when he appeared to fall into a reverie with his fork halfway to his mouth, and held it there until the piece of fish on it was stone cold.

It was the repetitive stroking of the scar that got to them all the most. Every one of the fifteen thought to himself at some stage of the morning, _If only we knew what he was thinking…_ and then many mentally drew back with a shiver, deciding that they did not really want to know.

Dilandau did not entirely know himself. He did not seem able to think about any one thing for very long; his mind felt scattered, tangled. Much of the time he ran on autopilot, with varying success, while the part that felt like the true _himself_ hung suspended somewhere not far off looking on with unutterable scorn.

 _-He's beaten you already. The only interest now is seeing how long it takes you to admit defeat. Why did I ever love you? You're pathetic. Pathetic, boy. His mark's on you. You're his creature now. Admit it. Give in. You know you're going to. I think you want to._

 _-I won't. I can't. If I did, I wouldn't be_ me _._

 _-You're not, any more, in any case._

 _-No! I'm still Dilandau! I'm still strong. Even if my face is ruined, there's nothing wrong with my body, it's still perfect, still untainted. And I still have the Dragonslayers. I can see the loyalty in their eyes._

 _-I can see the pity and the fear. Fear for you, not of you._

 _-There is nothing to be afraid of! I'm fine!_

 _-Remember what it felt like. He got on top of you. Wasn't he heavy? Wasn't he hot?_

 _-I refuse to think about it._

 _-You can still feel where his serpent tongue snaked up the side of your face. You feel it again every time you close your eyes._

 _-No I do not. It was hours ago, yesterday. I've washed my face five times since then. There is no trace left._

 _-You lay there and took it._

 _-I was still standing then! You're making me remember it wrong. You're making it seem worse than it was._

 _-What's he going to do next?_

 _-Nothing. I won't let him do anything. Goddamn pervert. No-one's ever had the nerve to force themselves on me. No-one's ever made me lose control._

 _-What would you call what you're doing today, lover? You've never been able to control yourself where he's concerned. You never wanted to. When you were the strong one, anyway._

 _-Shut up shut up here he comes._

The other boys all noticed Dilandau tense up as Van walked into the training hall. Before that he had been sitting meditatively by the sword rack, sipping water, apparently unaware of anything before him. Now, without really changing his position, he seemed to become poised, ready to spring to his feet, ready for action. Or for flight.

Van did not even acknowledge him, and far from approaching him, he went over to the far end of the hall where the weights were kept, and began stretching. After a few minutes' watchfulness, the Dragonslayers came to the conclusion that he was keeping himself to himself, and continued their exercise without paying him much more attention. No-one was about to speak to him unless they were spoken to.

Dilandau stayed on his bench, the cup of water held motionless to his lips, and watched Van as prey watches a hunter.

 

In the changeover between training and rest period, Dilandau slipped away almost without anyone noticing. He was going out the door when Guimel called to him, 'Where are you going, Dilandau-sama?'

'Just out for a while,' he replied, rather vaguely. 'I want some time by myself.' He shut the door behind him.

'I hope he doesn't get cold,' Gatti said, shuffling his deck of cards. 'Look at that - he's left his jacket again.'

It was thrown over the end of the bed anyhow, not neatly folded as Dilandau would normally have placed it, or told someone to place it. Chesta picked it up and straightened it out, holding it up to himself to fold the sleeves across the body. It would need to be cleaned; the lining had a strong, rank smell of old perspiration. He stood for a moment looking at the jacket in his arms, his weary eyes becoming unfocused so that he saw only a blur of red and black. This jacket stood for so much; he felt sure that at any time in his life, the sight of red and black would make him instantly think of Dilandau-sama, of his strength and ruthless integrity. And he had let it fall unheeded… He stepped closer to the bed to lay down the garment and his foot struck something on the floor with a ringing sound.

Dilandau's diadem was on the floor, halfway under the bed.

 

Dilandau stood on the exterior catwalk, leaning forward with his elbows on the cold safety railing. The thin air ruffled his hair and cooled his bare forehead. He was feeling vaguely feverish, though he had no other symptoms, so that was a pleasure. He would be all right, he soothed himself. It was just difficult to make the transition back to normality. He just had to hang in there, and things would get easier.

Far below was the world of ordinary people; of farms and towns and harbours, of schools and roads and shops. From up here it all just looked like an unlabelled map, no sign of any individual person, yet every one scurrying along down there thought he was important, if only to himself. Every one was at the centre of his own little universe. Dilandau did not know where his centre was any more. He felt his mind drawn down by the line of his sight, down through layers of chilly vapour, down to the brown-green earth that looked so soft with haze and distance. How long would it take you to fall to earth? How would you feel while you were falling? And how hard would it hit you when you landed? Would you have enough time to think about any of it? Would there be time for it to hurt?

He put his hands over his face and rubbed at his eyesockets and cheeks. Those were the sort of thoughts he ought to avoid. It was nice and peaceful to be out here alone, and he was managing to keep that nagging other voice quiet. Sometimes the voice with which he answered it did not feel like his own either. He was losing all points of reference, that was the trouble. He straightened his back and pushed his hands back through his hair to clasp at the back of his head, expanding his chest and taking deep slow breaths of cold sharp air.

'Are you practising posing out here?' Van stepped out of the shadows so quietly that Dilandau wondered in a panic whether he had been there watching all along. He managed not to turn with a visible start, and only looked coldly at Van for a moment before turning back to look out at the sky.

'No,' he said sullenly. 'Leave me alone.' He took hold of the railing so his hands would not tremble, and pretended to be very interested in the view. Van surely could not have seen him with his guard down, weary and slumped like anyone else. No-one ever had. He was very careful about the way he presented his image to the world. But here he was in his shirtsleeves; he had let himself slide. What was going wrong with him, making him lose his grip on everyday things like that? He tightened his grip on the metal as if that would help.

'What are you looking at?' Van asked, in a conversational tone.

'Nothing.'

'There's a lot of it out there.' Van came closer. Dilandau would gladly have left, but the other boy was now slightly in the way of the nearest door back inside, and he did not want to have to step around him or take the longer way because of him. He remained where he was and prayed for Van to get bored and go away. He closed his eyes and suppressed a shudder as he stepped right up behind him, and then his eyes flew open again in surprise and panic as Van pressed against his back and put his hands to the railing too, on either side of Dilandau's. He leaned forward to look over Dilandau's shoulder, seeing as nearly as possible what he saw. He rested his chin there quite casually, as though oblivious to how Dilandau had tensed up, to how his breath was now coming in short tight shivers. He felt entirely hemmed in by Van, by the warm oppressive mass of his body and the brushing of his dark hair against Dilandau's pale cheek. He was trapped.

'A _lot_ of nothing,' Van repeated. 'That's what it's like, way up here in heaven.' He put one black-leather hand over Dilandau's. 'Aren't you cold?'

'N-no.' The denial shot out automatically.

'You're shivering.'

Denying that would be pointless. Van could feel how true it was. Dilandau kept silent.

'Maybe you're a little scared.' Van removed his hands from the rail and stepped back a little, although not far enough to let Dilandau move away from the edge. He remained frozen, staring out at the clouds, but he distinctly heard the sound of a zip being unfastened, and the heavy, leathery rustle of Van taking off his jacket. It dropped to the floor, one of its shoulder-plates making a clang against the metal. Dilandau caught his breath at the sound. He blinked rapidly, wishing to see through the back of his own head, to know what Van was doing back there. And then Van stepped close again and he could hardly think for panic. The arms on either side of his were covered only by pale-honey skin; they were wiry thin but the shapes of muscles were distinct.

'It is kind of scary, isn't it?' Van said. He was speaking very quietly; higher volume was not necessary when his lips were so close to Dilandau's ear. 'So very high up, and knowing that all that keeps us up here is those magic rocks. Can you really trust magic, I always wonder? Magic that you don't understand? If you have none of your own, you're always at the sorcerers' mercy.' He covered Dilandau's hands with his own again, and slid them gently up over his wrists and forearms, a soft one-way stroke towards the body. His breath was a small warm zephyr against Dilandau's temple; the greater wind of the world was knife-cold. The gentleness of the movement bewildered Dilandau. He had been ready for force, for pain. It threw him off his guard a little, not in the sense of relaxing, but of not knowing what to brace himself against.

'We're angels, you and I,' Van murmured, 'up above the world. It's a special position - I know you feel that. We have the freedom of the air in those marvellous flying machines. We can fly without wings.' His hands slid on upwards, tracing the tense rise of Dilandau's biceps, then slipped away back to his shoulderblades. 'I can feel where your wings would be, if you had them.' The hands re-emerged from under Dilandau's arms, meeting over his chest, flattening his linen shirt against his goosebumped skin, and gliding warmly downward. 'And I can feel your heart beat, you mortal angel.' Now he embraced Dilandau around his waist, holding him tightly. Dilandau gazed down at his arms in bewilderment.

 _He really wants me. I was only mocking him, but it's true. Good grief. I'm really not used to that from males. What's wrong with him, to treat me as he has if that's how he feels?_ He released his grip on the safety bar and put his hands to Van's arms, uncertain whether he was going to try to pry them apart.

'But what would you do without your shiny red guymelef?' Van still held him, but he seemed to shift his footing, take up a new stance. 'Dilandau, angels and demons are so close. And sometimes an angel falls.'

It happened too fast to stop, and yet every movement was distinct in Dilandau's perceptions; how Van suddenly heaved him upward, released one arm from his waist and caught his leg to swing him over the barrier; how he threw him bodily into empty air.

And then he was falling, so fast he could not believe it, head downward, then heels, whipped over and over by the currents of the air, arms and legs spreadeagled and flailing, his voice torn from his throat by the cold wind so that he could only feel himself screaming. He knew as surely as he had ever known anything that he was about to die, and it turned out that you had plenty of time to think about it after all.

Something more material than the shredding wisps of white cloud shot through his peripheral vision and he hit the ground with a boneshaking whack. Dying did not hurt much at all. With his eyes screwed shut, he could not even feel any injury, although he did not feel disembodied. It felt as though he was gently rising now, going to heaven, he supposed. Real heaven, where he would have peace. There was warmth around him, warmth and pressure.

There was also cold wind in his hair, whistling in his ears, and the drag of gravity on his body had not stopped, it was only being impeded by a stronger force. Dilandau opened his eyes.

He could feel his body rising because he was being carried upward, still very much alive, in the arms of Van Fanel. It was hard to hear anything through the wind, but he could feel through Van's chest that he was breathing hard, panting with effort as he…

Dilandau's eyes widened, trying to take in something unreal.

… as he flew, beating mighty white feathered wings that sprouted from his back. His shirt was hanging in tatters.

They were climbing back towards the floating fortress. The impact he had felt had been when Van caught him. He had thrown him to his death and then saved him.

He caught Van's eye and found himself falling into fiery darkness. He could not look any longer; it was too terrifying to keep his eyes open when there was so much nothing above and below them. Dilandau shut his eyes again and ducked his head against Van's labouring shoulder.

After a long time they landed on the metal catwalk again, Van dropping to his knees as Dilandau crumpled under him, arms clinging around the winged boy's neck, blind and gasping. His mind was so full of fear that there was no room for thought at all; he could not even tell that he was out of danger and unlock his arms.

Van waited, watching him. After a moment, he adjusted his hold around Dilandau's body, one arm encircling his back and the other hand cradling the back of his neck. He bent his head and whispered in his right ear, 'Dilandau, you can calm down now. You're all right.' And, because it was right in front of him and he suddenly felt tempted, he briefly brushed his lips against the scar.

Dilandau's eyes flicked open as though he had been switched on. He stared at Van with wild, dark red eyes, still breathing as if he had run a race. Sweat was breaking out all over him, but at least it was warm, not the sickly cold sweat he knew too well. Van still had wings. That was not some kind of near-death hallucination.

'You're a demon,' he managed to say, pulling back his hands reflexively. 'I knew it, I knew it. What do you want?'

'A little, easy thing,' Van said. He was not whispering in Dilandau's ear now, but looking into his eyes, bending close enough to his face for the breath of his words to break against Dilandau's lips. 'I want you to admit who's really in charge. I want you to admit you know your master.' Closer still; it was not exactly a kiss but the tip of his tongue traced the course of Dilandau's lower lip. 'I want you to say you know you can't stop me… whatever I want to do…'

 _'Never!'_   Dilandau screamed it in his face, trying to blast him with sound. 'I'll never - I'll never- get _off_ me, you bastard!' He kicked wildly and knocked one of Van's legs from under him, rolled and pushed and found himself straddling the boy's body, looking down at his startled face; he hauled back and slapped across that face as hard as he could, first with his right arm, then with his left. He was preparing to strike again when Van, a livid red handprint on his left cheek and a white one blushing to red on his right, seized both his arms and shoved him away so that he tumbled against the safety railing. He grabbed the rail and pulled himself up into a half-crouch, gasping, expecting to be blindsided before he could prepare himself, but Van was crouching there looking pained.

'You bent it right back under me,' he moaned; it took Dilandau a moment to realise he meant one of his wings.

'Serves you right for sticking it out in the first place,' he said pointlessly, and scrambled for the door. Van did not give chase, but he could not slow down; he pounded along the corridors looking for any place that offered a haven, and hurtled through a door marked 'Toilets.' There were two more doors inside that and by mistake he took the one labelled 'Female'; fortunately there was no-one inside and he was able to slam into a cubicle and drop onto the seat, fighting for breath.

Actually, he thought, it might have been a good move to come in here; most of the _Vione_ personnel were men or boys, and there were only a few women's toilets. It was one of the places Van would be least likely to search for him. He straightened up a little and looked around the cubicle with a trace of curiosity, just wondering whether women's toilets were in any mysterious way different from men's. Everything looked the same except for a blue bin behind the toilet itself, the use of which he did not care to enquire about. Dilandau slumped down again, leaning against the cistern, with his hands over his face. It was catching up with him exactly what had happened.

'Fu-uuuuuck,' he moaned. 'Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.'

 _How could I leave myself open like that? Why didn't I figure out what he was going to do? Thinking he was trying to make a pass at me… well, it still feels like he was. Maybe that's how demons do it. Scare you half to death and then fuck you the rest of the way._

He shivered, remembering the heat of Van's body and the flame of his tongue. _What would he have done to me if I hadn't fought back? But I did. Oh, hell yes I did, I fought back._ His heart was still thumping at panic speed, but his breathing was getting back to normal, and he felt able to open his eyes and raise his head, taking stock of his situation. He had nearly died but he was not hurt at all; his body felt fine.

Actually, it felt surprisingly good. Perhaps it was just the adrenaline backwash of having passed through total terror and survived, he was all warm and tingly.

 _Well, what do you know. I'm getting hard… I was starting to think it'd never happen again._ He fumbled for his zipper to release himself, and gazed down with deep admiration.

'Hello, darling,' he whispered, stroking up the length of his warm waking erection with the tips of his fingers, just tickling to begin with. 'You want me to love you again?'

The stall door was locked. To hell with anyone who came in. This was the first untroubled pleasure he had had in days.

 

Van made his way back to his room rather quickly and guiltily; as he had drawn in his wings the last shreds of his shirt had fallen off and he felt peculiar and conspicuous wearing his jacket over bare skin. He had a strange ache in his shoulder, from the pull on the attached muscle as his wing had bent back, he supposed; he hadn't realised that the feeling would continue after the wings were gone.

It had all been so strange; he hadn't known what he would do next from one moment to the other. He had gone to the catwalk intending to try to sneak in another little practise flight and seen Dilandau standing there, so alone, so vulnerable, and somehow the whole thing just rose up unbidden in his mind, each step revealing itself to him as he went. Getting that close to him, holding him prisoner that way, had been so exciting that he had been surprised at how steady his voice and his hands were. Scaring Dilandau with sex worked so brilliantly; it only came second to throwing him off the fortress because, well, it would be hard to see how anything could beat that. He had gotten in his flying practice _and_ brought Dilandau that precious bit closer to submission. All right, so he had flared up at the last minute, but that had been sheer desperation, not proper willpower. Fighting him hand to hand had been… _I just wish I'd had my wings back in already, so it could have gone on longer. So I could have beaten him back down and felt him under me, and made him call me master…_

He closed the door of his quarters and leaned back against it. He was hot and sweaty, partly from exertion and partly because the moisture of Dilandau's skin had rubbed off on him in the scuffle. A nice shower, a clean shirt, and he would go in to dinner and look at Dilandau in a way that said _Wait for next time. You haven't beaten me by a long shot._ It sent a new flush of warmth through him to imagine how Dilandau would react. Not only warmth; growth, hardening, _heat_.

 _All right. All right, so there is some sex in it, in this little game I'm playing with him. It doesn't mean I'm going to give him anything. It certainly doesn’t mean he's got any power over me. The opposite. It's having power over him that gets me up like this, not_ him _, surely. It's not like getting excited and flustered with Celena. This is something stronger and fiercer._

He glanced in the mirror before he stepped into the shower and found that, although the slaps had not left bruises, there were three little red scratches on his left cheekbone where Dilandau's nails must have caught him in passing. He stood looking at them for a long moment.

 _So that's his mark on me… maybe I could have got something out of that. Gone to Folken with my shirt all torn and my face scratched, look brother, look how Dilandau assaulted me… no, I want to beat him myself, no need to play that card. It's not in his hand either. There's no way he'd admit what happened. Our little secret._

In the shower, with the warm water playing on his skin, stinging the scratches on his face, he experimented with gently touching himself with soapy fingers. Guilty pleasure came as easily as a thick lather, and he found that, thankfully, he did not really need to be gentle; it was so hard to be gentle. He leaned back against the tiled wall whimpering with delight.

 _Clean and dirty at the same time…oh,_ yes _…_

This was such a new feeling for him, the power of arousing and satisfying himself, the relief of giving way to his dammed emotions and experiencing them to the full. To begin with he had been thinking of nothing in particular, only concentrating on touch, but then Celena rose up in his mind, lips red and sweet with berry juice, and he took and tasted and devoured her, his imagined actions growing both more confident and more forceful as he surrendered self-mastery, and somehow when he reached this phase it was Dilandau's body he wanted to picture, Dilandau's body he wanted to touch and taste, Dilandau's body he wanted to drive himself into, discharge himself into, overrun and conquer with the force of what he felt. In a blind, rushing moment, everything gathered and focused at some central depth, his slipping grip on the heart-beating heat in his hands tightened desperately, he half-choked and cried out breathlessly as every sensation of pleasure exploded.

The intensity of it all shocked him a little. He was left panting in the wake of it, still experiencing little shivers of bliss, staring at his hands, at the white streak in his palm being washed away by falling water. His legs felt weak; his back was still pressed to the wall and he sank down slowly, sliding into a sitting position in which he could go limp without falling and hurting himself.

'My goodness,' he said aloud, and then started to laugh at the weakness of such an utterance as a response to what he had just felt. 'Oh, God…' He pushed his wet hair out of his eyes and lazily turned his face up to the shower spray.

 _That's what they don't want you to do? What they don't want you to feel?_ Why? _He's right, it's wonderful… better than dreams… can_ everyone _feel like that? Why in the world couldn't I get into that feeling with Celena? It would have been… actually, maybe it would have scared her. Or hurt her. The way I was thinking… I wouldn't have been very gentle. It's a lot easier to imagine being that rough with Dilandau, I wouldn't feel bad about it, so I suppose… oh, I don't understand. When I told Folken I didn't feel that way about him I think I thought that was true. But other times I've felt… I don't know. I can't seem to remember it all at the same time. The first time I saw him, he got on my nerves, I just wanted to wipe that look off his face, so sure of himself, so aware of how perfect he was, looking at me and my brother like we should think he was perfect too. Is that even enough to explain how strongly I felt, straight away? I've never wanted to break someone like this. All my feelings are so much stronger since Folken… since I decided… since I've been here. Is it part of growing up? Or has Dilandau just triggered something in me that I didn't know was there?_

 _Do I want it to be like something in that book?_ He thought of the things he had read, the strange, fascinating acts those dirty boys performed on one another, tried to imagine how it would feel if he could somehow make Dilandau take his dragon in his mouth, suck it and stroke it… _he'd probably just bite me, not safe. But… but I like thinking about it… or doing it to him… some way he couldn't stop me… he'd be so mad and so humiliated if I could make him come. And spit it back in his face… and… and kiss him through it…I want to kiss him properly, and make him take it. That's the thing… I don't want to force him while he's fighting. I want him to give up and beg me. I want to take him to the point where he doesn't_ want _to resist me any more, where he knows he can't, where he knows we_ are _going to do it and nothing in the world can stop it happening any more than I could stop myself coming just now. That's all I want… for him to be mine, and for him to know it._

 _That's a pretty big 'all,' of course._


	13. International Mushroom of Mystery

Chesta was trying not to fall asleep himself while he waited for the others to drop off. He had thought that thinking over the events of the day would help with this, since they had certainly been confusing and worrying, but his brain kept telling him 'No, not interested, I'd rather sleep.' Still, he persisted; he had a pretty good incentive to stay awake.

There was something up with Dilandau-sama and Van-sama, that much was obvious. He wondered if it would be diplomatic to ask Folken what he had actually said to his brother. When Van had been so quiet and unobtrusive after lunch Chesta had felt very hopeful that he might be going to change his tune altogether; he was no longer so naïve as to hope that he and Dilandau-sama might become friends, but at least they could settle to an armed truce. But what was all that at dinner?

Dilandau had seemed all right when he came back from his little walk alone; in fact he had been strangely cheerful, although he was jittery and inattentive. He noticed his jacket lying on the end of his bed and put it on casually, leaving it unzipped, then wandered around the dormitory starting conversations with people and walking off without finishing them. It was odd, but at least he was coming out of his shell. He seemed unworried about going to dinner. As soon as Van had entered the mess hall, though, he had seemed to want to hide. He bent over his tray and started eating faster as if planning a quick getaway. Van had collected his dinner and taken it to an empty place at the end of the table, but instead of sitting down, he had left the tray on the table and walked back to the seat Dilandau occupied. Chesta had been sitting next to him; Dilandau did not look up, but Chesta did, trying to speak to Van without using words, to say _Please just go away. You've done enough. Give him a break for one meal at least._ He couldn't even catch his eye; he was only looking at Dilandau.

Van put his hand on Dilandau's shoulder, and he froze with his spoon in his mouth. Although he did not move his head, his eyes rolled in Van's direction as though they were pulled by invisible threads. Van leaned down, cupped one hand around Dilandau's right ear, and began to whisper, so quietly that Chesta, sitting in the next chair to Dilandau’s left, could not make out what he was saying. Whatever it was made Dilandau's eyes widen and his cheeks redden; then his face became set and waxy, as though he was trying to hold back from any visible reaction. Chesta, watching closely, thought that he blinked more often than he normally would, and his right eye twitched once, but otherwise he did a good job of appearing unmoved. Van seemed to whisper for a long time before reaching some conclusion; whatever it was, it broke Dilandau’s composure enough to make him give a small gasp; not much more than a short sharp inhalation. He looked furious with himself for letting that much slip.

Van straightened up and walked away, looking well pleased with himself; he did not speak to anyone else, but sat down and started eating. Dilandau sat motionless a moment more, then Chesta saw him swallow; he had been holding the same bit of food in his mouth the whole time. Somehow that bothered him even more. Dilandau-sama, afraid to _swallow?_

‘What was that all about, Dilandau-sama?’ he asked in an undertone.

‘Nothing,’ said Dilandau hoarsely. He wiped at his ear. ‘Nothing.’

‘If – if he was threatening you…’

‘Shut up.’ Dilandau spoke quietly, unusually for him, but his tone was emphatic. His eyelid twitched again. ‘Just shut up about it, Chesta, he isn’t your problem.’ The quietness unnerved Chesta further, but he could not think of anything he could do.

‘If I can help you in any way at all, please tell me straight away,’ he said, although it felt hopeless.

‘Of course you can’t _help_ me,’ said Dilandau bitterly. ‘Forget about it, Chesta, just go along in your happy little mushroom-head world.’

Hurt by the rebuff, Chesta did not try to mention it again. But he could not forget about it. _What does he mean, mushroom-head?_ he thought inconsequentially. That was still niggling at him as he lay in bed, waiting. He had gotten into a habit of seeing the routine of evening as an enjoyable countdown, because every stage passed brought him closer to Folken, but when everything was so tense and strange that did not help much. It really did bother him that Dilandau-sama apparently thought he was blithely oblivious to what was going on; that Dilandau-sama seemed not even to be conscious of his devotion and concern. Firstly, he had to admit that he resented being written off that way, and secondly, more importantly, if Dilandau-sama did not realise that Chesta of all people was deeply worried about him, he must feel terribly alone with his problem, alone with Van. And there was nothing he would let Chesta do, nothing of which he believed him capable.

 _Does everyone just think I’m a mushroom-head who’s incapable of being unusual or interesting or unexpected in any way?_ he wondered mournfully. _And why_ mushroom _? Folken doesn’t think of me that way, anyway. He sees the real me and he loves me. I just wish he’d let me know the real him so I could love him too. I’m sure I_ would _. My Folken-sama… one reason why I started to love him was_ because _he saw me, and thought I was special._ Dreamily, he traced his fingertips along the side of his face, mimicking the way Folken touched him before they kissed. _And oh, the way he kisses me… as though my mouth tastes delicious… as though he’s soooo hungry… sometimes he bites my lip, but only if he’s getting carried away, and he always stops himself. He’s always careful. I want him to kiss me as though he’s not afraid of leaving a mark. I want him to make love to me without holding anything back. I’m sure I could take it. I want_ all _of him, good and bad._

 _Of course, right now I’ll settle for what I can get._

The dormitory was quiet now; the only sound he could distinguish was soft, slow breathing. No-one snored, mainly because they had been trained out of it by Dilandau-sama. Anyone who had snored when he arrived either woke up struggling for breath with a pillow pressed over his face – or in a couple of cases had passed out and needed artificial respiration. When Dilandau-sama felt like having a joke he would sometimes say that was what had gone wrong with Guimel; too long without oxygen to the brain. The thing was, it had been Dilandau-sama who had resuscitated him, who had fought for his life while the rest of them stared and fluttered in horror, and when he came to, had rolled him on his side and rubbed his back until he was breathing steadily and had calmed down. Then he had pulled him up by his pajama lapels, stared into his face and said ‘Don’t _ever_ make me do that to you again. Got it?’ He shook Guimel. ‘ _Got it?_ ’

‘Got it,’ said Guimel. ‘Dilandau-sama,’ he added, just in time. That had been the second night, when they were all still learning the rules. Dilandau-sama had ordered them all back to bed, saying they had no excuse to be up; but Chesta had watched from his pillow, and he had sat on the edge of his bed watching Guimel, who slept next to him at the time, right through the night – or at least up until Chesta fell asleep. He counted that as one of the most important, certainly most memorable, nights of his life.

 _Well, come on boy, make this one memorable as well. I think they’re all dead to the world._ Chesta slipped out of bed as silently as he could; even the bedstead didn’t creak. He was getting good at this now. He left the covers pushed back, so it would look as though he had just stepped out for a moment and was coming back soon, and started to pad towards the locker-room door. He was halfway out into the gangway when a sleepy voice stopped him.

‘Chess, where you going?’

Chesta swallowed his heart again (at least, it felt that way) and turned to see Dalet half-sitting up in bed, blinking at him and pushing his bangs off his forehead.

‘I’m just going to the toilet,’ he whispered. ‘Did I wake you up?’

‘Not really,’ Dalet grumbled. ‘I can’t sleep. Can’t stop my brain. I was just sort of drowsing, and then you moved and I snapped back awake.’

‘I know,’ Chesta said, still in a whisper. ‘I think everyone’s jumpy. I’m not feeling the best myself. Just lie back down and you’ll be asleep in no time.’

‘Yes, Nanny,’ said Dalet, sounding amused at Chesta’s soothing tone. He settled back in bed.

‘I’m just going to the loo.’

‘Yeah, you said. G’night.’

‘Good night.’ Chesta waited a few heartbeats, then made his way to the door without further incident. Nothing like that had happened before, and it had nearly thrown him. But it was no big deal, he told himself as he slipped through to the training hall. Dalet had sounded pretty sleepy; he would probably be out like a light by now. He might not even remember the conversation; sometimes if people talked to you when you were half asleep it seemed like a dream afterwards. And there was nothing remotely suspicious about going to the toilet at night. Everyone had to go sometime. He felt less worried about it as he drew nearer Folken’s door. And then he was through, and in Folken’s arms, and he knew he would be completely taken care of.

‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘Pen behind your ear. You’re busy tonight too, aren’t you?’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Folken. ‘I shouldn’t have been. A lot of reports were delayed today; there were mishaps, misunderstandings, you name it. I didn’t get the information I needed until late this afternoon and I’m still working through everything.’

‘Then it’s not your fault, so don’t be sorry.’ Chesta kissed him softly on the chin.

‘I can’t help feeling that I’m missing something somewhere,’ Folken said, almost to himself. ‘Something I’m getting wrong. I thought I was controlling all factors.’

‘Folken-sama,’ Chesta said sternly, ‘you can’t control everything. Sometimes things happen for reasons that have nothing to do with you. I know it’s hard to believe, but there it is.’ He paused, with an admonitory finger raised, looking around Folken to the work stacked on the desk. ‘That looks as though it’ll take as long as the other night.’ He made a peevish face.

‘Nearly,’ said Folken, with a rueful smile.

‘Do you mind if I hop straight into bed instead of sitting up? I’ll probably just doze off again. And you can come and wake me up when you’re ready.’ He tried to smother a yawn as he spoke, but it inflated the middle of the last sentence.

‘You really are tired, my poor pet. Go on, but kiss me goodnight first.’

 

Chesta fell asleep with the feeling of a kiss on his lips, and woke to another. With his eyes still closed he reached up to put his arms around Folken’s neck and draw him down closer. He felt much more rested than he had expected; still sluggish, because he was just waking up, but not so painfully tired as before. Just a catnap must have been enough.

‘Good morning,’ Folken whispered in his ear.

‘Are you being funny, like calling one a.m. morning?’

‘No… four thirty… your usual wake-up call. Don’t you want to wake up? Can’t I see those pretty eyes today?’

They blinked open and Chesta stared at Folken. ‘You let me sleep all the way through?’

‘Well, you looked so comfortable, and I thought it would be nice for you. I know you’re getting worn out. You’re only human. It won’t always be like this, I promise. Do you feel better for having a few hours’ decent sleep?’ Folken propped himself up on one elbow, head resting on his hand, and looked down at Chesta fondly.

‘I – I do, but it isn’t fair to you.’

‘I have to sleep too. I am at least half human too, you know. It probably did me a world of good.’

‘Well – well, is it really worth it, my coming here, if we don’t…?’ Chesta trailed off; Folken looked hurt. ‘I don’t mean I don’t think it’s worth it if you don’t ride me, that’s not it at all. I mean is it worth it for _you_.’

‘Sweetest Chesta, how can it be worthwhile for you and not for me? Just to have you here with me is a luxury.’ Folken kissed him on the forehead, then the mouth, a gentle, nuzzling sort of kiss, loving, tempted, but not demanding.

‘Well,’ said Chesta decisively, ‘there’s still lots of time before I have to go. Do you want to get in the shower, or stay here?’ He sat up, pulling his nightshirt off over his head.

‘You don’t have to,’ Folken said uncertainly.

‘Look at me. I want to.’ Chesta sat back on his heels, legs apart, putting himself on display for his lover. He always rather enjoyed doing that; it made him feel so wicked.

‘But I don’t want to exhaust you. It would be selfish to make unfair demands. I should think of your health.’ Folken seemed to be trying to convince himself.

‘This _is_ for my health. You can’t get me this excited and then stop.’ Chesta flung himself down on top of Folken and kissed him deeply. ‘My balls’ll turn blue,’ he said as he surfaced for air.

Folken laughed softly. ‘I happen to know that isn’t true,’ he said.

‘I thought it was.’

‘It’s not. You have to learn quite a lot of biology to be a sorcerer. You can bet that I looked up everything that related to my own anatomy.’

‘There goes my argument, then,’ said Chesta, sounding dismayed. ‘I don’t know what I’m talking about.’

‘Don’t worry, I find you very persuasive anyway.’ Folken gave him a gentle, lingering kiss. ‘I want you to tell me if you can’t cope,’ he said. ‘Understood? I couldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you because of me.’

‘I’ll be _fine_ ,’ Chesta said impatiently. ‘Nothing ever happens to me anyway. Everyone thinks I’m boring.’

‘Everyone’s wrong, then.’ Folken leaned back a little, looking at Chesta’s face. ‘You look upset. Did someone _call_ you boring?’

‘I shouldn’t care what people call me,’ Chesta said dismissively. ‘It’s childish.’

‘It’s human,’ Folken said. ‘All right, it’s something you can train yourself out of, but I spent a long time, when I was older than you, still feeling terrible about the things people said behind _my_ back. There was a lot more to be said about me than about you. Do you want to tell me?’

‘I _wouldn’t_ have cared if it was anyone else,’ Chesta said, ‘but it was Dilandau-sama.’

‘Not him again,’ said Folken wearily.

‘He called me a mushroom-head,’ Chesta said sulkily. He put his head down on Folken’s chest for comfort, and felt the slight tremor of amusement.

‘Did he? I think that’s rather sweet. My little button mushroom.’ Folken stroked Chesta’s smooth blond cap of hair.

‘Oh, _don’t_ , I hate it.’ Chesta raised his head, aggrieved. ‘Why am I a _mushroom_ -head? It reminds me of what my father used to say when he was reading the paper, about the government, “they must think we’re mushrooms, because they keep us in the dark and feed us bullshit.” And then my mother would tell him not to say things like that in front of me,’ he finished lamely.

He pulled away and sat up, drawing his knees up to his chin and wrapping his arms around them, pouting. Folken kept silent for a moment. He knew from personnel records that Chesta’s parents were dead (the slim file labelled 'Caravel, C.' had become a treasure of his), but they had never talked about it. It was the first time Chesta had mentioned them, and he was not sure whether that was because he found it painful to talk about them, or because he seldom thought of them any more. He was not sure it was his place to say anything about them. Something else about what Chesta had said concerned him too.

‘Do you feel you’re being treated that way?’ he asked. ‘Kept in the dark?’

‘No,’ said Chesta, looking puzzled by him. ‘I only remembered because Dilandau-sama said mushroom. It was a word-association thing. Mum used to say Dad’s foul mouth and subversive talk would be a bad influence on me,’ he went on, smiling, ‘but I guess I turned out bad enough without his help. It’s just that mushroom-head isn’t a very flattering thing to be called, is it.’

‘He might have been being affectionate, in his odd little way.’

‘That isn’t his odd little way. What happened was, I could see he was upset, and I asked him if I could help. “Of course you can’t help,” he said, “just go on in your happy little mushroom-head world.” Like I didn’t understand anything. How can he think I’d be happy when he’s upset?’

 _Don’t I make you happy?_ Folken wanted to ask. Instead he asked ‘What was he upset about?’

Chesta looked uneasy. ‘Van-sama.’

‘Still? I talked to him at lunchtime. I think I sorted some things out for him. He should get less aggressive.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ said Chesta. ‘I mean, he hasn’t _done_ anything aggressive, but he said something to him and I could see it shook him up.’

‘What did he say?’

‘I don’t know, he was whispering.’ Chesta dropped back on the pillows and frowned at the ceiling. ‘Did he say anything about how he feels about Dilandau-sama? I still don’t understand that.’

‘I don’t think Van understands it himself. Put it this way, there is something happening there, but I wouldn’t call it an attraction exactly. It’s not so much that he’s really interested in Dilandau, as far as I can see, as that he’s simply feeling rather hormonal and overcharged at the moment, and needs an outlet for it.’

‘What did you say?’

‘Well, I told him to masturbate more.’

‘Are you joking?’ Chesta turned his head to stare at Folken.

‘No, I thought that would help. It’ll get it out of his system. He wasn’t doing it because he thought it was bad for him. Now, well, he’ll satisfy himself and he should be able to relax a bit. You’re looking as though you’re not sure I’m right.’

‘Well, of course you must be, you know more about it than I do,’ Chesta said. ‘But… I was just thinking… you and I have sex, right? And every time we do makes me want to do it more. It gets you further _into_ my system. I always want more.’

‘It isn’t the same thing,’ Folken said, ‘although thank you. It’s quite a different situation.’

‘Well, you can see that, but do you know if he can?’ Chesta looked worried. ‘And – look, did you really _say_ “masturbate more”?’

‘Well, not that exact phrase, but the word was used. Was that a mistake?’

‘Most people don’t _say_ “masturbate”.’

‘Well, I wasn’t going to tell my brother to _wank_. It sounds dreadful,’ Folken said defensively. He gave Chesta a troubled look. ‘Am I being strange?’

‘You’re being oddly prim, considering the context,’ Chesta said. ‘You know, like you do.’ He spoke carefully, not wanting to give offence.

‘Oh, I don’t. I’ll prove it. You’re right, there’s lots of time left. I’ll suck your cock, I’ll lick your asshole, I’ll take you from behind and – stop giggling, I’m _trying_ ,’ he protested.

‘But it sounds so funny when you, of all people, try to talk dirty.’ Chesta tried to hide his smile behind his hand. ‘I think you’re really more of a “little dragon” person. It’s all right, you’re probably a _good_ influence on me, language-wise.’

‘I just feel stupid now,’ said Folken, embarrassed.

‘You, the biggest genius in Zaibach? Never. Come on, Your Velvet Hardness.’

 

Chesta was just lifting the covers to get back into his own bed when a voice spoke quietly behind him.

‘That’s the longest I’ve seen anyone take to go to the toilet.’

He looked over his shoulder wildly and found Dalet propped up on one elbow in bed, looking at him with one eyebrow raised ironically.

‘What do you mean?’ he hissed back.

‘You’ve been out of bed all night. Where were you really?’

‘No I wasn’t. I came back. You were asleep already.’

‘Um, no. Because, when you went off to the loo, I looked at my alarm clock as I lay down and thought “oh God, it’s only eleven-forty five, will I never get to sleep.” And I woke up again, later, and thought “what time is it _now?_ ” and it was three-ten or something ungodly like that, and since I’d woken up enough to look at the clock I looked over at your bed and surprise, surprise, you weren’t in it. I wasn’t alert enough to put two and two together, though, I dozed back off. And I woke up _again_ about half an hour ago, still no Chesta in sight, so I thought I’d just lie here and see when you decided to make an appearance. What were you doing all that time?’

‘I fell asleep sitting on the toilet,’ Chesta lied desperately. ‘I’ve only just woken up and come back. I’ve got a seat-print on my bum like you wouldn’t believe. It's embarrassing so I didn't want to say.’

‘Oh,’ said Dalet. ‘I suppose that explains it.’ Chesta relaxed. ‘Except why did you come back in through the corridor door?’

‘Come on,’ he said, sitting up, but still whispering very quietly so as to wake no-one, ‘admit it. There’s something going on with you. You’ve changed. You’re a lot ballsier than you were. You do things and say things you’d never have thought of before. Before _what_ , I want to know?’

‘Well, you’ve changed too,’ Chesta said, stalling. ‘Why’s that?’

Dalet shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Do you know what it feels like? Like Dilandau casts a spell on all of us.’

‘Dilandau- _sama_ ,’ Chesta whispered fiercely.

‘Whatever. And when he went away, it was like it wore off me, bit by bit. I started seeing things clearer, and asking a lot of questions about why things are the way they are. Whether the people at the top deserve to be there. Why Dilandau-sama’s such a god to us. I haven’t got it cracked yet, but I keep wondering all the time. Once I wouldn’t ever have thought of it. And you, you’ve got it even stronger than me. You do things I’d never dare to; I just think things and sometimes say them, but you _do_ things. The earring, and sneaking out at night, and having a secret life – you’re amazing. What’s really going on, Chess?’

Chesta stared at him, astonished. This wasn’t an accusation. Dalet was looking at him with pure admiration. He thought this was thrilling. He would not accept some boringly plausible story. Something in what he said gave Chesta an idea.

‘I’m not at liberty to say,’ he said solemnly.

‘Why not?’

‘I’m a secret agent.’ It sounded silly to him even as he said it, but Dalet’s face lit up.

‘Like a _spy?_ ’

‘Ssh! No, not exactly. I’m just – look – you know the Strategos? It all started when I went to see him.’

‘It _did_ start about then!’ Dalet agreed excitedly, quick to put the pieces together.

‘Well, he’s chosen me to do some… special assignments for him. I honestly can’t tell you any more, Dalet, it’s need-to-know. I shouldn’t have said this much.’

‘But I _do_ need to know! I’ll go crazy if you don’t fill me in on the rest of it. Come on, Chess, _please_. I won’t tell anyone.’ Dalet clasped his hands and made an exaggerated begging face.

Chesta put his hands to his head wearily. He didn’t have his story planned. Suddenly, with a vague sense of alarm, he felt a slight, warm leakage from his rear. It happened, sometimes, of course; it had just never happened in such a situation before. _Cream of Folken, sliding down my leg. Oh God._

‘I have to go to the toilet,’ he said automatically. The blood-temperature trickle was moving down his thigh, heading for the back of his knee. What if he moved and it dripped? What if Dalet saw? He _would_ see if he just stood there and let it run down to the floor.

‘You can’t fob me off with that _now_.’

‘No, I really do.’ Chesta turned rather stiffly and hurried to the door, walking with buttocks clenched, his mind humming with suppressed panic.

‘ _Chesta!_ ’ Dalet hissed after him, but he was through the door and into a cubicle, hoisting up his nightshirt around his waist and gathering a handful of toilet paper to mop up the incriminating evidence. He heard feet padding across the dormitory floor and hastily shut and locked the door. He had never been quite so embarrassed in his life.

‘Chesta, you in there?’ He could see Dalet’s feet through the gap under the cubicle door.

 _Oh,_ don’t _talk to me when I’m doing this._ ‘Go back to bed, Dalet, you’ll wake everyone up.’ At least he had gotten himself cleaned up.

‘I won’t if we’re in here and we talk quietly. You can’t just leave me hanging like this! You’re doing secret missions for the Strategos. It’s amazing. Why’d he pick you?’ To Chesta’s surprise, there was no insulting emphasis on the _you_.

‘Well…’ he said, slowly, lowering himself onto the toilet seat so that any further leakage would go where it could do no harm, ‘it was, um, because of the initiative I showed, going to see him by myself like that.’

‘Oh, I wish I’d thought of it!’ Dalet said. ‘So he just offered it to you?’

‘Yes,’ said Chesta, warming to the theme. The nice part was, he could tell a lot of the truth in disguise. ‘I guess he just thought I had the special qualities he needed for this.’

‘What does the Strategos want you to do in your _nightshirt?_ ’

For a moment Chesta thought he was sprung, and then he realised Dalet was just curious.

‘Of course I don’t actually do it in my nightshirt. I _go_ there in my nightshirt, and change when I get there. Into suitable gear for the job.’

‘What are you actually doing?’

‘You know I can’t tell you.’

‘Is it something to do with the secret catgirls? Or is that just a rumour?’

‘I’m not at liberty to say,’ Chesta replied. He had a feeling that was going to be a useful line.

‘That means it _is_ , right? I mean, they’re real?’

‘My lips are sealed.’ _If only my ass was. Ow, no, that’d be awful._

‘Could we swap lives, please?’

‘No. I like this one.’

‘I don’t blame you,’ said Dalet wistfully. ‘It must feel great to know what’s really going on. And knowing the Strategos chose you, that he trusts you with that… he’s one of the ones I do respect. He is just… well, you know he’s one of the greatest inventors ever, don’t you? He's got a great mind.’

‘Of course I do. I admire that.’ _And I, of course, get to appreciate his body, too._

‘And you’re right under him, is that right?’

‘Uh, sometimes.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Well, I don’t work with him directly every night,’ Chesta said. _Whoops. Needed a little fib there._

‘But you do sometimes? That must be amazing. You’re really getting to know him, I guess.’

‘You’re really making the word _amazing_ work hard, you know,’ Chesta said with some amusement. ‘I thought you thought he was spooky and cadaverous.’

‘I was just emphasising why I didn’t think _you_ would have gone to see him,’ Dalet said apologetically, ‘but I can see I was all wrong about you. Do you guys only talk about mission things, or other things too?’

‘I didn’t know you were such a fan of his,’ Chesta said. He half wished he could see Dalet’s face; he sounded so impressed. Then again, he wasn’t sure he liked someone else being so impressed by Folken.

‘Well, I’ve always been interested in how our melefs work,’ Dalet explained, ‘and I think that’s what I really want to do, the kind of design work he does. Really know how things work inside, and build those fantastic machines. And you’re getting the opportunity to learn from him, you lucky bugger. Who do you have to sleep with to get a job like that?’

‘Dalet!’ Chesta was startled. He was sticking close to the truth himself, but Dalet seemed to keep accidentally stumbling on it. To his own surprise, he was blushing.

‘Kidding, kidding. Although, hey, are you getting any catgirl action? A little pussy?’

‘ _No!_ I wouldn’t be allowed to. This is really important stuff, Dalet, we can’t kid around. You’ve got to understand it’s serious. You can’t talk about it to anyone, okay? And I can’t talk about it any more to you, I could actually be putting you in danger.’

‘Okay,’ said Dalet, obediently. ‘I hear and obey, oh voice from the toilet. Are you ever coming out of there, or are you nesting?’

‘Coming out,’ said Chesta. The danger seemed to be past. He stood up, flushed the toilet, and opened the door. Dalet was leaning against the wall by the washbasins, looking at him with bright-eyed enthusiasm at odds with his sleep-rumpled appearance. He always just slept in his undershirt and shorts from the day before, and his bangs were all pressed to one side. He was really quite cute like that, not trying to be poised as he did during the day, Chesta thought, and instantly felt guilty.

‘It’s actually kind of nice telling someone a bit about it,’ Chesta said as he washed his hands.

‘I bet. It’s no fun having something like that if you’ve got no-one to show it off to, is it?’ Dalet reached over to the peg on the wall and handed Chesta a towel to dry his hands. Chesta looked at it in surprise.

‘You don’t have to do that for me,’ he said.

‘Oh, don’t be weird. As long as I’m not calling you Chesta-sama it’s not a big deal.’

‘You wouldn’t, would you?’

‘Hell no. You wouldn’t _want_ me to, would you?’

‘Hell no.’ Chesta paused thoughtfully. ‘Just so long as you don’t call me mushroom-head, I’m happy.’

‘ _Mushroom-head?_ ’

‘That’s what Dilandau-sama called me.’

‘He’s got a nerve, hasn’t he? Okay, you’ve got a bowlcut, but I wouldn’t say you look like a _mushroom_.’

‘ _That’s_ what it’s about? My haircut? I thought he was saying I had mush for brains. God, I feel better knowing that!’ Chesta laughed out loud with relief.

‘Ssh, you’ll wake everyone up.’

‘Right. Right. We’d better sneak back.’

‘After you, mister secret agent.’


	14. Obligatory New Zealand Song Quote

_Animal magnet thug_

 _Pulls me out of myself_

 _I need a dragonslayer_

 _Who can save me from myself_

\- 'Dirty Creature,' Split Enz

 

The night that Chesta had slept away in Folken's bed, Dilandau had been afraid he would pass without sleeping at all.

He was feeling feverish again, which made him horribly afraid that his illness, whatever it was, was coming back. He most certainly did _not_ want to go back to the infirmary. That would be like giving in, or running away, or admitting - at any rate, it was something he did not wish to do. He felt as though admitting the possibility of a relapse would make it come true.

 _It's all because of him. He makes me feel this way._ He turned his pillow over to get the cool side under his cheek, and pressed his face against it, wanting the coolness to spread into the warm line of the scar, and his burning ear. _I'm probably allergic to him or something. Allergic to demon spit. Dirty bastard._

He had to keep thinking quite forcefully and emphatically, because any time he let the words of his own thoughts die down, the words Van had whispered to him came roaring back up like fresh fire. The worst part was that of course _now_ he could think of retorts; now it was far too late.

 _-Today was the beginning of the end for you, my Dilandau. You've begun your fall, and it's a fall into my arms._

 _-No! You won't take me by surprise again. Shut up._ He had been unable to say that. He had almost been unable to breathe.

 _-I'm so excited about this… knowing exactly how I'm going to conquer you, to break you, and knowing that in the end you'll come to me and surrender._

 _-I never will._

 _-I can't stop thinking about what it's going to be like. Can you? Can you feel us getting closer? Can you feel your heart beating in my mark on you?_

 _-Leave me alone. Please, just leave me alone. I don't want to think what you make me think._ He was astonished at himself wanting to plead.

 _-It's inevitable, my Dilandau. The two of us… we draw each other. I am the earth and you are my pale moon. I am the sun and you are a planet that will one day be drawn into my fire._

 _-No… for God's sake, stop the bad poetry. You must have written this out before you said it._ If only he had had a sarcastic thought like that to protect him, but his mind had shut down.

 _-There's no hurry. I enjoy the anticipation. It will happen. You'll be mine. I just thought you'd like to know._ He had stopped speaking; for a moment Dilandau had felt only the warm tickle of his breath, buzzing in his ear. He thought it was over, thought he would be released in a second; and then felt the hot tip of Van's tongue touch his earlobe and trace a moist trail up along the rim of his ear. He had disgraced himself; the sound of his breathing had betrayed his shock. Van heard it. By the same token, his breathing changed tellingly, there was such a satisfied little sigh as he straightened and turned away. No-one but Dilandau would have noticed.

And he had had to sit there for the rest of dinnertime trying to behave normally, if he could remember how. Chesta had said some damn' fool thing about helping him, as if there were a thing he could do, as if he had any idea what was going on, an innocent like him. And as if there were any way in hell Dilandau would admit weakness and ask for help! From an inferior, a subordinate, someone for whom _he_ was responsible. The only person to whom he could possibly have complained was the Strategos, who of course wouldn't give a shit because it was his precious brother doing it, so _that_ was as much use as a jelly sword - and in any case if he were going to complain he would have had to do it much earlier. He had let it get too far now to be able to stand the humiliation of involving anyone else.

As soon as they had returned to the dormitory he had gone into the locker room and scrubbed at his ear with soap and water until it felt raw; then he had found some alcohol swabs in the first-aid box, so he had tried to sterilise it. He couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that any trace of Van on his person gave his enemy power somehow. Nor could he rid himself of the suspicion that all he had achieved was to give himself a very sore ear. After all, what did a lick matter compared with the scar? It was feeling tender again. It seemed to him that it was only healed on the surface, that inside it was still a fresh wound. Sometimes he felt it prickling, itching, burning afresh. Sometimes he felt the cold blade slit his skin and the first blood well. Most often, he felt that sliding serpent kiss.

However, he was asleep before Chesta made his exit for the night. The day had left him exhausted; that was one of its few compensations. The other joy had deserted him again. He slept without dreaming and woke very reluctantly.

Dilandau was by nature a morning person. He was fully alert immediately after waking up, and typically bounded out of bed eager to face the challenges of the day, with very little sympathy for anyone still yawning and rubbing the sleep out of their eyes. Just lately, that had changed, and this morning he was more strongly inclined than ever to lurk behind the safety of his red curtains, pulling the covers over his head to shut out all light, and try to pretend he did not know it was morning, the rising bell was ringing and the day had to begin. The sensation of dread was overwhelming; the feeling that no matter what he did, something he would hate would happen to him today.

 _It doesn’t have to happen. It doesn’t. Stay with the Dragonslayers. Don’t go anywhere by yourself. If you see him, don’t speak to him. Don’t listen to anything he says. Don’t let him draw you into a fight. Don’t, above all don’t let him touch you. He has too much power if he touches you._ These were not calming or reassuring thoughts. He lay there holding the quilt bunched under his chin, listening to the sounds of the Dragonslayers getting up and dressing. They were doing it without him telling them to, of course, but it was unaccustomed for them not to have him chivvying them along – no, of course it wasn’t. They had had all that time while he was sick to get used to that. They had managed without him.

Footsteps approached his bed and hesitated before the curtains. The lights were on out in the dormitory now, and he could see a shadow, but the ripples of the material made the shape indistinct; he could not guess who it was.

‘Dilandau-sama?’ It was Migel.’Did you hear the rising bell?’

‘Yes,’ he said. A pause.

‘Um – Dilandau-sama, I thought it sounded like you said something, but I’m not sure.’

‘I said yes, I heard it. I’m not deaf.’

‘Oh.’ Another pause. ‘All right. Um, just checking. Sorry, Dilandau-sama.’ The footsteps retreated.

 _I’ve got to get up. He can’t imprison me here. What am I going to do, lie here all day?_

 _Oh my God. What if I did, and while they were all out, he came and found me. No, no, I mustn’t let that happen._ He scrambled out of bed and got dressed in a hurry, making up for lost time. When he had brushed his hair, he couldn’t find his diadem. What had he done with it? When was the last time he had had it on?

 _This is ridiculous, I always wear it, I put it on first thing in the morning every day, I take it off last thing at night and I put it here hooked over the headboard. Where it isn’t._ Panic rose up in him; it was such a small thing, but if he was falling apart on small things he could not trust himself with great things. He threw back the curtains.

‘Who’s taken my diadem?’ he demanded. They were all ready, all dressed; they stood in a cluster in the gangway, anxiously watching his bed. Such a useless little mob of staring faces.

‘No-one’s taken it, Dilandau-sama,’ Chesta said hesitantly.

‘Then where the fuck is it? I haven’t put it anywhere. So why can’t I find it if someone hasn’t taken it? How do you explain that?’

‘I found it yesterday afternoon on the floor,’ Chesta explained, in the tones of one hoping to defuse a bomb. ‘I don’t know how it got there, but I put it away in your footlocker. I’m sorry if that wasn’t the right place, Dilandau-sama, but I thought it would be safe there.’

Dilandau stared at him, still breathing rapidly. ‘Who put it on the floor, then?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know, Dilandau-sama, I only found it.’

‘My diadem, on the floor,’ Dilandau said, turning to the footlocker and throwing it open. It was right there on top of his trenchcoat. ‘My diadem on the dirty floor. Every pretty thing I’ve got is getting soiled and spoiled and _ruined_.’ He grabbed a fold of the curtains and tried to polish the diadem, fumbling it in his agitation. He gave up and rammed it on, discovering from the cold of the metal how hot his face had become.

‘Well,’ he said brightly, turning back to the Dragonslayers, ‘I hope like hell it isn’t going to be that sort of day!’

It was worse than that. Van was everywhere, all the time, and he never _did_ anything. That was the torture of it. Dilandau would see him, and tell himself not to look. But then he _had_ to look, to see what Van was doing. He felt even less safe otherwise. He would take his look and then glance away quickly. But sooner or later, Van would always look up just as he was looking, and their eyes would meet, and Van would give him the smallest, slightest smile, holding him for whole seconds before he broke the link and looked away. It was terrible. He would not say anything; he would not approach Dilandau. The only respite came at lunchtime, when he went to eat with his double-damned brother.

In the afternoon it got worse still. Now when Dilandau sneaked a look at Van he would find Van already watching him. Smiling. He would never have thought that one day he would hate for someone to look at him. He had always loved the attention of admiring eyes. But these eyes, these dark shining eyes, deep reddish-brown rimmed in obsidian black, seemed to see everything he had ever wanted to hide. Under their gaze, he felt the prints of every time Van had touched him were visible and glowing as though his hands had been dipped in luminous ink. He hardly knew what he said or did that day. If he had had no dreams last night, he was in a febrile dream now, the kind that makes you afraid to go back to sleep.

In the end, Dilandau was not a person built for endurance. He had a low threshold of boredom, a short span of attention and an even shorter fuse. It had often seemed to him in the past that he lived an accelerated life, experiencing the world at a more rapid, more intense rate than ordinary people. It was part of his superiority. Now it was his weakness. He could not believe how fast this treatment was wearing him down, how desperate it made him for any way to get out of the situation. His nerve was stretching painfully thin and he found himself watching and waiting for the moment when it would break.

It came as he was taking off his jacket, beginning to undress for bed. Perhaps it was the sound of the zipper, evoking a moment on that catwalk; perhaps it was nothing but the fact that he had reached his limit. The torment did not build to a climax; in fact he had seen the last of Van for the night at dinner, and he had had the whole of silent study period to wind down – or rather to continue to agonise and fulminate. It was quite simple when it came; there was a moment of exquisite tension and then, snap, he was out on the other side and feeling perfectly calm, because now he knew exactly what he was going to do.

He should have thought of it earlier and saved himself a lot of worry. It was simple. It was the only way out bar suicide, which he would not have contemplated for a second. There might be a certain appropriateness to a life lived entirely unto oneself being ended by one’s own hands, but poetic justice held little appeal for Dilandau. No. This was the way. He had been resisting seeing it because it was so terrible, but oddly, once you had accepted it a lot of the terror went away and you were able to be quite sensible about it, even to think that perhaps you had gotten a little hysterical and it would not be so bad after all. At least it was his decision.

He looked at the jacket in his hands, considering, and put it back on, zipping it up firmly and fastening the hook-and-eye at the neck. He took stock of himself, running through a mental checklist of uniform and grooming. He had held it together that way today. He was in good form. _Yes. Still beautiful. I still make this uniform look so damn’ good. He will see that. He would have to be blind not to._

He looked around the room at the Dragonslayers preparing for bed. They looked very young to him, very childish; look at Chesta and Dalet, for God’s sake, giggling about something together and trying to be quiet; look at Guimel yawning his head off, look at all those boys stripped down to nightclothes, soft and defenceless and with no idea of what he was about to face. Lucky idiots.

He headed for the door without explanation. Someone was bound to ask, and they did.

‘I’m going for a walk,’ he said. Of course they wanted to know where.

'Just out for a while,' he replied, hearing the echo in his mind. 'I want some time by myself.'

The door closed behind him, and he was out in a shadowy corridor. He straightened his belt, checked that his overskirt was not twisted to the side, that his hair was smooth, that he looked as near to perfect as he still could. Then he set out.

It was not far to walk. He knocked at the door.

‘Who is it?’ Van called from within.

‘It’s me,’ Dilandau said. There was a silence.

‘Come in,’ said Van.

Dilandau opened the door and stepped into Van’s quarters. The place was much as he remembered it, except that now it looked inhabited. Van’s dressing-gown was draped over the back of the desk chair, the gorgeous red dragon worked on its back displayed to Dilandau’s envious eyes. His uniform jacket, overskirt and shinguards were in a disorderly heap on top of the footlocker. Van was lying on the bed, apparently reading; he lay there on his stomach with his back to Dilandau, as if he were not even there. He did not give the impression of even having looked up.

‘I’ve come to surrender,’ said Dilandau. He nearly choked on the words.

‘You’ve what?’ said Van, eyes still on his book.

‘Come to surrender. To let you do what you want. If that’s the only way to make you stop this campaign of harassment and sabotage, that’s what I’ll do. I really don’t care that much any more. I just can’t be bothered to live with that shit. So here I am. I give myself up to you.’

‘What do you mean?’ Van asked idly.

‘You know damn’ well what I mean.’

‘But I want to hear you say it.’ Dilandau could see only the side of his face, but he seemed to have that smile.

‘I mean… I mean I know you want me. You want to fuck me.’ _If you want me to spell it out, I’ll spell it out as bluntly as I know how._ ‘So come on. Here I am. All for you.’ He unzipped his jacket and let it slide off his shoulders, let it fall to the floor. He unfastened his belt, his overskirt, let them drop with a strange feeling of finality. _Should I strip off completely? Is he going to want to do that for me? What I’m showing him is enough for starters._

‘Terribly sorry,’ Van said, and turned a page. ‘Not interested.’

‘ _What?_ ’ Dilandau stood in a little pile of cast outer garments and stared at Van in pure disbelief. ‘Are you _serious?_ I, Dilandau Albatou, am standing here telling you that I’m willing to have sex with you, and you say _not interested?’_

Van rolled halfway over and gave him a look that was half bored, half amused. ‘You’re _willing?_ ’ he repeated. ‘I’m sorry, that’s just not good enough. I was looking for _desperate_. Go away and come back when you’re ready.’

‘Then I’ll never come back,’ said Dilandau. ‘This is the only chance you get.’

‘So you say,’ said Van, rolling the rest of the way onto his back, and returning his attention to the book, holding it open above his face. ‘We’ll see, won’t we?’

‘You _cannot_ tell me you don’t want me.’ This was the final insult, worse than Dilandau could have anticipated. ‘I _know_ you do. All that shit you talked about being drawn together, the way you groped me, the way you _licked_ me, you want me and you know it!’ He stamped over to the bed. ‘Look at me when I’m talking to you, damn it!’

Van looked at him, smiled, and looked back at the book.

‘ _VAN!_ ’

‘That’s the first time you’ve called me by name,’ Van said contentedly. ‘You always refused to do it before. Don’t think I didn’t notice. I wanted to hear you say my name so much; not just to repeat what I told you but to call my name of your own accord. But it’s still not perfect. I want to be Van-sama to you.’

‘You want so many things that you’ll never get,’ Dilandau snarled. He leapt onto the bed, swiping the book to one side and planting a hand either side of Van’s head on the pillow. ‘I _know_ you want me,’ he repeated, looking down between their bodies. ‘I can _see_ you want me. You’re rock hard.’ It was true; the shape of it was clearly visible, straining against the leather of Van’s pants.

‘That’s not for _you_ ,’ said Van, sounding amused again. ‘That’s been up for a few minutes now. I was kind of rubbing against the bed. Tell me, did _you_ ever read this book? It’s pretty good. Let me read you the part that reminds me of you.’

‘Shut up,’ Dilandau said through set teeth, ‘just shut up.’

‘Suit yourself,’ said Van, shrugging. ‘I’ll read in my head.’ He raised the book again, between his face and Dilandau’s, blocking him off.

‘You can’t ignore me,’ Dilandau said. ‘You can’t refuse me. _You_ cannot refuse _me!_ I made up my mind to come to you and I am _not_ going away without – without…’ He lost track of the sentence. It was unbearable to be ignored, it goaded him so intensely that he could not even think of how reluctant he had been. There was a point to prove now. He stared down between their bodies, at that insolent bulge in the black leather. He reached down and touched it, felt the pressure of it, felt it surge to new hardness at his touch. Van did not say anything, remaining hidden behind his book, but Dilandau caught the tiny change in the pitch of his breathing.

 _I_ will _get a reaction out of you. You_ will _do what you’re supposed to._ He shuffled backwards on hands and knees and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Van’s trousers, gently dragging them down a little. He bent his head and touched his tongue softly to the pale-honey skin of Van’s abdomen, just under his navel, and traced a slow circle around it. Still no reaction beyond the subtle shift in breathing. He pressed the tip of his tongue into the navel itself; sometimes pressure there could produce interesting sensations. If Van felt anything of the kind, he gave no sign.

Dilandau released the waistband, letting it ride back up, then slowly, deliberately unfastened the top button. The tab of the zip was between his thumb and finger; he drew it gently towards him, up over the straining peak, rising higher as the restraint on it was released. Still moving slowly, he spread the front of the trousers as wide open as possible. Van’s erection was now covered only by regulation cotton undershorts, the flap in the front closed by a button under serious pressure. _It looks bigger than I was expecting. What’s that supposed to mean? When did I ever think enough about it to have an expectation?_

Of course it was not the first time he had seen another boy naked, or even the first time he had seen another naked and aroused; everyone had times when the body lacked a sense of occasion, and when you shared a shower with fifteen other boys every day of your life you could not avoid glimpses. But what he had seen had never been personally relevant before, except in the case of his own body. There could be nothing more familiar and comfortable than that. This felt utterly strange, alien; frightening and fascinating.

 _Maybe he’s different. Maybe that’s why Folken gave him his own room and shower, so we wouldn’t see something abnormal, something demonic about his body. Or maybe of course he has feathers instead of hair down there. I want to see._ He lifted the waistband of Van's shorts and tugged them down. For some reason he closed his eyes as he did. _So I'll see the whole thing at once when I look. Like unwrapping a present, when you want it to be a surprise…_ He opened his eyes, wetting his lips as he did so.

There was nothing visibly abnormal about what he saw, the thick, engorged shaft rising from a nest of coal-black curls, soft skin flushed deep red shading to warm magenta at the head, a delicate bluish vein visible near the base. He was almost taken aback at how familiar it seemed; the only feature he could really pick on as strange was that Van was uncircumcised. _That gives me something new to play with… you're going to find out that if there's one thing I know how to do, it's play with your dick._ The feeling of being on his own ground was increasing, warming and encouraging him. He knew exactly what to do; hadn't he done it to himself a hundred times over? Just a gentle touch first, fingertips slowly tracing, emphasising length, soft flattery mimicking awe.

Van breathed in sharply; Dilandau flicked his gaze upward and found Van still determinedly staring at his book, although the set look of his face indicated that he was completely unable to concentrate on anything but the way he was being touched. Dilandau softly wrapped his hand around the warm, swollen tip of his cock and drew it slowly, draggingly down, watching every moment, quietly triumphing as Van bit his lip, closing his eyes for just an instant, fighting for self-control.

 _Don't even bother. In the end this is you surrendering, not me. Didn't realise what you were letting yourself in for, did you?_ He slid his hand back up, exploring the possibilities the foreskin presented, working it back and forth with his thumb and forefinger. Van's eyes were staying closed now, and the hand holding the book was trembling. _You like this. You love it. You'll admit it soon enough._ At the tip of Van's cock, a little bead of some clear, oily liquid had emerged and was glistening in the lamplight. Dilandau's first thought was to spread it with his thumb, rubbing round and round over the tingling head, but somehow as he bent nearer to see what he was doing he changed his mind; he pursed his lips and softly blew. The glistening drop trembled and broke; Van's whole body trembled and he failed to suppress a soft 'Aah!' of almost panicky desire.

 _After all, I can do things to you that I could never do to myself, that I just don't have the reach to do… things we can only dream about separately…_ He kissed the tip of it, as lightly as he could, but lingering to hear Van moan. _I wish I knew exactly what you're feeling. I'll just have to find out later._ What he was about to do seemed so obviously the thing to do next that it did not even strike him as strange. He still wanted to tease, to flatter; with his head low, breathing heavily against the achingly sensitive skin, he rolled the rigid shaft against his cheekbone, rubbing like a cat, closing his eyes as though in bliss. _Because it's_ so _beautiful, because you are_ so _sexy that I just can't control myself, I've got to worship you this way. Right? You like me telling you that? Damn' right you do. I can hear you whimpering._ He drew back, holding it firmly in his hand, and blew softly again, directing the stream of warm air in an agonising sweet tickle around and over the throbbing head. He paused, waiting, poised with his lips parted and his eyes upturned.

 _You've got to look. Just look now; stop trying to pretend you don't care._ As though he heard Dilandau's thoughts, Van slowly lowered the book to his side and opened his eyes, revealing worlds of desire and fear, gazing down at the unnervingly beautiful boy who gazed back with the teasing hint of a smile, and then gently took the head of his cock in his mouth, wet it with his hot, flickering tongue and sucked as though he meant to draw out Van's soul.

Van threw back his head and cried out wordlessly, his voice cracking with the intensity of what he felt. This was so exactly what he had fantasised about, and it was a million times better than he had been able to imagine with only his own hands to guide him. Dilandau was drawing him in deeper, now, squeezing with his hand as his tongue wetly rasped up and down, then seemed to coil right round. _I can see his lips… right there against my cock… can see him taking me in, all the way in… God, how can he do this without gagging? Oh… pulling back again… yes, yes, round the tip, go faster, don't stop, don't stop!_

Dilandau would not have stopped for anything; he was too swept up by the power he felt. Van's right hand came fumbling down and settled on top of his head, holding him down, fingers spreading and tangling amid his fine hair; the other hand was up by Van's face, half-covering his mouth, as though he were still trying to smother the little panting cries that burst out freely. Unconsciously, he was moving his hips, a gentle rhythmic rocking no amount of willpower could stop.

 _That’s it… that’s it… give in, Van. Oh, I should have known I’d be good at this. Let’s see him look down on me after_ this _._ A slight moan escaped Dilandau’s own throat; despite his pleasurable feeling of power, of control – _working the joystick, ha_ – his own arousal was rising above what he could master. _Why am I getting off on this so much? Because it’s like doing it to myself? Or because… because it’s so exciting to see him so excited, by me. Something like that. How far can I take him? How deep?_ With some difficulty in breathing, he succeeded in easing the shaft past the point of his gag reflex, down his throat, swallowing hard; Van felt the undulating squeeze of muscle, on top of wet suction, soft friction; felt himself embedded and embraced in heated pleasure.

‘Oh God… Dilandau… my Dilandau…’ Both hands caressing, gripping the boy’s head, hips pumping now, unable to hold back.

A smothered cry of protest rose in Dilandau’s throat; this was too much, too rough, he was choking. He tried to pull back but Van’s fingers were locked in his hair and the movement only caused him pain. He pushed against Van’s body with both hands but he could not disengage himself.

‘Oh yes… _yes_ …’

 _Stop! You can’t use me like this, I’m not in charge any more, you’re scaring me! I can’t breathe! You’re going to burst my throat… let me go… please stop!_ Tears sprang out in his eyes; he could no longer suck or swallow but Van was thrusting harder, lost in bliss, feeling it build, feeling it burn. His back was arched, his head thrown back, his mouth open as he panted for air, feeling his heart beat so fast and hard it frightened and exhilarated him.

 _Yes… yes… I’m going to come, going to come going to come…_ Abruptly he jerked back, withdrawing entirely; Dilandau, half-choked, gasped for breath, felt a wash of bewildered relief, and then Van ejaculated full in his face. Sticky heat spattered over his lips and cheek; all he could do was gasp. His throat hurt; he thought he might be sick. He could not think how it had changed from him in charge, in control, to him being used and humiliated, but there it was. Van’s clenched fingers had relaxed. He was able to pull away and roll on his back, staring up at the ceiling, blinking away tears, swallowing hard.

Beside him, Van was moaning softly, whispering ‘Oh yes, yes, perfect, perfect…’

 _I’m glad_ you _thought so. It wasn’t so fucking great for me._ He sat up, unsteadily, pushing his hair back from his forehead, and took off his diadem, wiping the sweat back into his hairline, seeking to collect himself. _If nothing else, that was one of the most intense experiences of my life. I made him lose it totally._ He licked his lips nervously and almost gagged again at the unaccustomed taste of Van’s come. _But… but it’s working. I’m winning. I’m winning!_ He turned to look at Van, enjoying the sight of him red-cheeked and dewed with sweat, a dreaming look on his face as he wound down from the high of orgasm.

‘How was that, Van?’ he asked softly.

‘ _So_ good…’ Van sighed fervently. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and looked up at Dilandau, blinking to focus. ‘Well, thank you,’ he said, with a half-smile. ‘Very, very good. Perfect end to a perfect day, hmm?’

‘Not the end,’ Dilandau said. ‘We’re not finished.’

‘You may not be,’ Van said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and pulling up his shorts in one movement, ‘but I am. Check your face. You’ve got that peaches-and-cream look.’

‘Wh-what?’

‘You can wash up at the sink before you go, if you want,’ Van said. He was standing now, zipping up his pants, his manner casual and relaxed. ‘I’m guessing you don’t want your boys to know what you got up to tonight. I mean, I think it suits you, but you might not want everyone to see you that way.’

‘You’re joking. Are you trying to say that after _that_ we’re not going to have sex?’ Dilandau was outraged. ‘After I did that for you, you’re not going to give me a damn’ thing?’

‘I didn’t ask you to,’ Van said, shrugging. He hooked his thumbs in his waistband and looked at Dilandau quite indifferently. ‘And I don’t know what you expect, after making me come like that. I’m not a machine who’ll just get it up whenever you want it. And if you think I’m going to let _you_ put it in, you really don’t understand what’s going on.’

‘You bastard,’ Dilandau breathed, ‘you total bastard. You can’t treat me that way.’ He had moved to sit on the side of the bed, and he was gripping the edge so tightly his knuckles ached.

‘Hey,’ Van said, ‘I never asked you to do it. It was your choice. Don’t complain if you don’t like how it turned out.’

Dilandau rose and approached him, barely containing his rage. He could not endure this; nor could he understand how he could feel such hatred and such desire for the same person. If he had been ruled only by what his body so desperately wanted he would already have been on his knees and begging; it was pride that kept him on his feet. How _could_ Van be so unmoved, stand there as though Dilandau was nothing special, as though he had done nothing remarkable, nothing for which many people would have given their eye teeth? He launched himself at Van, ready to bear him to the ground.

They fell hard and rolled, and Dilandau felt a sharp pain in his temple as Van got a grip on his hair and twisted; it was the right side of his head and it pulled directly on his tender scar. He could not take that; it struck directly at his weakest point with a psychological force far fiercer than the mere physical discomfort. He released his hold on Van.

‘Please,’ he whispered, ‘please let go.’

‘No,’ said Van, breathlessly. ‘No, boy, you can’t say that now.’ He rose to his knees, pulling Dilandau up with him. ‘Oh, look at you… your eyes… you have incredible eyes… shining full of tears.’

‘There wouldn’t _be_ tears if you’d stop twisting my bloody hair,’ Dilandau groaned. In fact, it did not really hurt any more, but Van was still holding him tightly.

‘What I love,’ Van said, ‘is that you’re still _so_ excited.’ His free hand was suddenly pressing up between Dilandau’s thighs, giving a firm squeeze to his aching, trapped erection. ‘You want it _so_ much.’

‘So stop being… so cruel…’

‘You want me to be nice?’

‘I don’t know if you can _do_ nice.’

‘What do you want, though? Little kiss?’ Van leaned forward, almost swayed toward Dilandau, offering his lips and drawing teasingly back as Dilandau tried to take them.

‘ _Van…_ ’

‘ _Wait_.’

Dilandau closed his eyes in desperation, unable to keep looking on such temptation when he was prevented from acting upon it. He could feel Van leaning closer, feel the moist heat of his breath, and then, when he could bear it no longer, came the kiss. He felt himself melt into it. This was right; this was the tribute he merited. _I can’t believe I’ve gone down on him before ever kissing him. I can’t believe this is how I’m getting my first kisses… from another person that is… it’s not like how I kiss my hands… and stroke the kisses onto my body… he can really kiss me like that, and I think now it’s going to happen. He just has to jerk me around a little first, it’s how he is… which is hateful, but I can cope…_ He closed his arms around Van’s waist and drew him nearer. These were messy, clumsy kisses, both boys hoping to make up in enthusiasm what they lacked in experience.

 _Finally_ , Dilandau thought, _it feels like he's treating me as I deserve, as though he has some idea of the privilege of all this._ Van rose to his feet, drawing Dilandau up with him, and began to back him across the room.

 _To the bed, right? No? Up against the wall… well, that's all right, I asked you to stop being cruel but you don't exactly have to be gentle. What's it going to be like? What are you going to do, demon king?_

Van reached behind himself to disengage Dilandau's hands, pushing his arms down at his sides.

'Do you want me to turn round?' Dilandau whispered. He was not sure how this should go, and presumed Van knew what he was doing. His eyes were once more closed in anticipation; it seemed to make the sense of touch more intense.

'No, just stay where you are.' Van moved his hand from the side of Dilandau's head, snaking round behind him, seeming to embrace; and suddenly the wall behind Dilandau was gone. Van had slid open the door behind him.

'Good night, Dilandau,' he said, and shoved him out to fall on his ass. Dilandau landed in a heap against the opposite corridor wall, his eyes blinking open just in time to see the door slap closed. He sat there staring open-mouthed. This could not be real. None of it, it had to be some bizarre wet dream shading into a nightmare. He was _not_ sitting here in a corridor, half undressed, his abused throat aching, with smears of another person's most intimate fluids on his face, beginning to feel clammy in the cold recirculated air. Any minute now he would wake up in his warm red bed.

The door slid open again and Van stood there, outlined against the light from within. _It's another stupid tease. He'll ask me back in, say he was just trying to scare me, throw me and then catch me - well, I won't put up with it this time, he's got to start treating me a lot better if he -_

'Catch,' said Van crisply, and threw Dilandau's cast-off clothes at him, a heavy leather armful. 'Bye!' he added, and the door slammed again. Dilandau scrambled to his feet, throwing the clothes to the ground, and clawed at the handle, but Van had locked it from inside now and he could not move it however hard he wrenched. He didn't know the combination for the outer lock, although he gave it one good hard whack with his fist to relieve his feelings. He struck the door again. He wanted to yell out something that would make Van realise exactly what a stupid thing he had done, but he could think of nothing; he only knew how furious, how humiliated he felt, how his whole mind seemed to be one enraged scream. He pushed himself away from the door, spinning across the corridor, and kicked the wall so hard he dented the panelling and hurt his foot. He sank down, crouching on the floor with his arms over his head, and shivered with rage and anguish.

 _I hate him. I hate him! I hate myself! Stupid, stupid, degraded, dirty, STUPID!_ In a spasm of self-loathing, he beat himself over the head, tore at his hair, bit his own arm until the sharp pain cut through and brought him to his senses. He stared at the two purple semi-circles of toothmarks on the pale side of his forearm, panting.

 _Didn't break the skin. I could never really hurt myself like that, could I? Pretty good bite, though. I should've bitten his dick off while I had the chance. Oh, God, I had his_ dick _in my_ mouth _. What in the name of hellfire made me do that? What possessed me? I can still taste it, still feel the shape. My throat hurts! And - and this filth on my face - God, I'll never feel clean again!_ He fumbled in his pocket, finding, to his huge relief, that at least he had a handkerchief to wipe his face with.

 _Maybe… maybe I should just have done what he said, washed my face and gone home with some dignity. Would that have been dignity, though? Or would I just be even more his bitch?_

He had a sudden mental image, himself bending over the washbasin, Van approaching from behind, ready to - _Don't you dare try and make out that would have been better. I - I was lucky. I got away, he didn't fuck me, I'm still true to myself - a little bit, anyway._

 _-Bullshit, you were ready to go all the way with him. You have no integrity left at all. And he doesn’t even want you that much. There you were practically creaming your pants just because he kissed you, and he can turn his back on you with no trouble._

 _-Why am I_ still _hard? This is painful._ He put his hand between his legs, cautiously, wondering if it was possible to simply release this tension with all his old ease, and with a sinking sensation felt himself lose the erection. _He touches it and it's a burning sword, I touch it and it's dead meat. I hate him. I want him. I hate him._

Mechanically, he stuffed his soiled handkerchief back in his pocket, pushed his arms through the sleeves of his jacket, and gathered his belt, sword and overskirt into a bundle. He could not fasten anything properly; his hands had started to shake. Hugging his bundle, his head down, he shuffled back towards the dormitory. _Bad mistake. Bad mistake. I don't know why I thought it would make anything better. He's just won again._

Everything was quiet in the dorm. They had all gone to bed, of course, no need to wait up for him. Everything could continue perfectly well without him. He stood in the doorway gazing down the two rows of beds, at the fifteen safe sleepers. He walked slowly to his bed and dropped the bundle on top of his footlocker, then went to the locker room. If he didn't wash his face with hot water and soap, and clean his teeth at least twice before bed, there was no way he would be able to sleep. Gargling might help, too.

Dalet watched him slide the locker room door closed, then rolled over to face Chesta in the next bed.

'I wonder what that was all about?' he whispered. 'Are you going to go now?'

'Not till he's asleep, dummy,' Chesta whispered back. 'Do you think he's all right? He wasn't moving like he usually does. And why would he go out all dressed and come back carrying half his gear?'

'He drops clothes all over the place these days,' Dalet replied. 'He's getting sloppy. It's weird, because he always cared so much about looking good. That scar really is getting to him. Do you think there's anything we could say that'd cheer him up?'

'I thought you were all disenchanted,' Chesta said, frowning. 'I didn't think you cared about him any more.' It was the one thing that made him uncertain about his new friendship with Dalet.

'Of course I _care_ about him,' Dalet said, sounding mildly insulted. 'I don't have to think the sun shines out of him to still… Chess, I'm still _loyal_. And I don't want him to be miserable. Dilandau-sama's got a way of sharing his misery.' He gave Chesta a half-smile, a glint of white in the dark.

'I wish there was something I could do,' Chesta said wretchedly. 'Some way to take away what's hurting him.'

'Unless your secret-agent training includes ways of miraculously making mean Fanelians and scar tissue vanish,' Dalet said wryly, 'I don’t think you've got much of a hope, beyond being nice to him.' He paused, thoughtfully. 'Unless you think we should have a word with Van-sama or something. Do you think we could tell him to back off?'

'I think we'd make things worse that way. Anyway, Folken has talked to him, and I'm sure he's got the situation under control.'

'Really? It sounds so cool how you just say his name, Folken, like oh, I talk to him every day. Does he tell you lots of stuff like that?'

'I shouldn't've mentioned it. And I meant to say Folken-sama, of course.' _I can't believe I slipped up like that! Bite my tongue…_ 'Now sshh, because Dilandau-sama might come out soon. You should try to go to sleep, it's late and there's no reason for you to wear yourself out staying up too.'

'You ought to ask Folken-sama if you can have some down time during the day to catch up on your sleep,' Dalet suggested. 'If you're doing something so important he ought to give you some privileges - and you'll work better if you're rested, right? Anyway, I don't mind staying up to keep you company.'

'Thanks,' said Chesta, surprised at how touched he was. 'At the moment I don't think that's possible - the down time, I mean. But, you know, he looks after me. He's good to work for.' _If only I could tell you how good. I don't think you'd want to hear about the physical side of it, unless you're bent the same way as me, but I wish I could tell someone how loving and kind he can be, just so someone besides me would know, just so everyone wouldn’t look at him the way he knows they do… it hurts him so much… at least you admire him._

'Will you tell me all about it _one_ day?' Dalet asked wistfully. 'Like when the war's over?'

'I really hope I can,' Chesta said. 'I hope I can soon.'

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Part Fifteen**

Van had expected that he would drop off into a contented sleep as  
soon as he lay down, but it didn't seem to be working that way. He  
was still keyed up in some way, imagining and reimagining what had  
happened, wondering if it would have been better to do anything  
differently. It hadn't been a perfect victory, but it had been  
wonderful. He had a peculiar feeling of having been extremely bad and  
thoroughly enjoying the awareness of his badness; it was the opposite  
of guilt, its mirror image.

 _I wish I could have seen the look on his face when I came; his  
expression when I pushed him out the door was priceless. And  
what he did to me it was better than I could have hoped for. I  
want more. I'll have more. He'll come back, he's got to. I've fucked  
with his head too much for him to be able to stay away._

 _Literally, even. God, he was surprised! He was so sure of  
himself, so sure of _me _. He knows better now._ He was  
letting the sense-memories come and go freely, drifting from one to  
another. _I kissed him really kissed him I tasted  
myself on his lips._ He touched his own lips, tickling, tracing  
their borders. _I want more. And you do too, Dilandau. I cant  
wait, I cant wait until the time when I can have you any time I  
want. Will you come to me willingly? Will you be my sweet bedtime  
boy, or will we snatch any opportunity during the day, anywhere we  
can be secret for long enough? In the shower, on that walkway, in the  
garden_ His conscious fantasy was blurring into a dream,  
images and impressions pressing upon him with feverish intensity; he  
smelled the crushed grass beneath their bodies, his hand closed over  
Dilandaus, he was _there_. As the pleasure mounted, he  
looked up and to his shock found that Celena was sitting nearby and  
watching them; his eyes were trapped by her gaze, astonished,  
fearful; her mouth dropping a little way open, her hands clasped  
nervously under her chin; she spoke his name and everything stopped  
with a jolt, dropping him back on the bed where he realised he was  
thrusting into the covers wadded between his thighs.

 _What a mess._ He had gone off the boil now and felt a sudden  
disgust for the tangle of his bed; he pulled the covers up to  
straighten them and heard something clink against the wall. Reaching  
down the side of the bed, he found a crescent of metal; Dilandau had  
left his diadem here by accident. Van turned it in his hands, then  
hesitantly raised it to his forehead.

 _I never wore a crown before. It doesnt quite fit; his  
head must be a different shape from mine. Loose over the forehead and  
tight above the ears. It would give me a headache._ He removed it  
again and stared at it in the darkness, its gold glinting only  
faintly. _I never wore a crown its so hard to remember  
sometimes that Im a king. The _Vione _seems like the only  
real world. Serving Folken feels like my real life as if  
everything before was a strange dream, and the people I knew exist  
only in my memory is Merle still real, somewhere?_

 _Is Merle okay?_ The thought came with a twinge of  
discomfort. _Of course she is,_ he told himself hastily.  
 _Shell be sensible, shell stay with Hitomi and Allen  
whatshisname and theyll take care of her. Shell be  
fine._

 _But shell miss me. Shell worry about me._

 _She might run away again to try and find me. Anything could  
happen to her out on her own. Its been just us for so long,  
orphans together, and she doesnt know anyone where she is, not  
properly, just a short acquaintance she must be so lonely and  
scared_ A contraction of pain in the base of his skull, a  
lumpy dark red knot pulled tight.

 _Shell be fine, shell be fine. Shes smart and  
tough and - and all alone I am all alone no, no, I have  
my brother. Hell know what to do. Folken will know. I just have  
to talk to him, it always gets better when I trust him. Im not  
the clever one._

 

This time the knock came when Folken was just comfortably settled  
on the couch, Chestas body a warm weight in his lap and his  
mouth a melting sweet for him to taste at leisure.

Brother? Vans voice came to them quite clearly  
from the corridor. Are you there?

Oh, for Gods _sake_ , Folken muttered under  
his breath. How does he _know_ when were doing  
this?

At least this time you have clothes on, Chesta  
whispered. Ill hide. He slipped away to the bedroom  
as Folken quickly glanced around to make sure nothing incriminating  
was on display, kicking a dirty book under the sofa and refastening  
the sash of his dressing-gown.

Brother? Another tap, more hesitant.

Van? Folken replied, trying to make his voice sound  
sleepy. Just a moment. Coming. He opened the door, hoping  
he looked as if he had just woken and pulled on his robe. Van was in  
the corridor in his pajamas and dressing-gown, standing nervously on  
one bare foot.

Are you all right? Folken asked, trying to crush his  
impatience and irritation. Being without a little brother for ten  
years could make you forget how inconvenient they could be, but it  
stole back over him at moments like this.

Can I come in? Van asked, looking rather pitiful,  
vulnerable in the chilly shadows of the corridor, which instantly  
made Folken feel guilty.

Of course you can. Come on. Van, whats wrong? You look  
upset.

I came because because I had a bad dream I  
cant get back to sleep. I cant stop thinking of things  
that bother me. But I cant really remember _what_.  
Its all hazy. I think - I think I was dreaming I was doing  
something terrible I scared myself. Van pushed his hands  
through his hair, making it stand up in coal-black spikes.

Dont make a porcupine of yourself, Folken said  
softly, putting his good hand to Vans head, smoothing the  
spikes. Relax now. Youre all right.

I just dont feel very good, Van said.

Has anything happened? He lowered his hand, just  
touching Vans cheek now.

No, Van replied, so quickly that Folken was sure he  
was lying out of either guilt or fear. Im just  
lonely, I think. I miss Merle sleeping at the end of my  
bed.

Lonely? Do you think you would feel better if you went to  
see Celena again?

Van turned his head away from Folkens touch, casting his  
eyes downward.

No, he mumbled. I dont think Id be a  
good influence on Celena.

I thought you were very good with her. Just like with Merle.  
You have a gift for looking after lost people, Van. The memory of  
that, in you, has always inspired me.

I just want to be able to go to sleep. Ill be tired in  
the morning otherwise. Im - brother, Im scared. Im  
upset and I cant remember what its about. I just wanted  
to talk to you because you always make me feel better. To  
Folkens surprise, he swayed forward, resting his forehead  
against his brothers chest, the gesture of a tired child.  
Somewhat uncertainly, Folken put his arms around Van, softly patting  
his back. He felt the tension go out of Van with a shuddering sigh;  
he became a warm, limp, trusting weight against him. He realised,  
again with a little surprise, that the boys head was much  
nearer his shoulder than he had remembered; he must have had quite a  
little growth spurt in the short time he had been here.

 _Of course, I remember that I grew like a weed when I first came  
to Zaibach I was taller than him at fifteen, but even so I shot  
up. Perhaps its something in the water. Hes already so  
different, so changed. What will he become?_

I feel better, Van murmured. I do. He  
turned his head slightly, resting his cheek against the dull green  
silk of Folkens dressing gown.

Im glad. There were three small scabs on  
Vans cheekbone; Folken touched the place gently. What  
happened here?

Scratched myself by accident. It was pretty silly.

Oh. Well, I know what thats like.

Brother?

Hm?

Can I sleep with you tonight?

Folken blinked, startled. _No. Thats not what he means,  
surely. Good God, no. This isnt - I mean - his feelings  
arent like -_

Like when I was little, Van went on, relieving  
Folkens mind considerably. I could always run to your  
room and curl up with you if I didnt want to be alone, and I  
could always go to sleep there, no matter what I was scared of. I  
didnt have Merle to sleep at the end of my bed until after you  
were gone - she came because she knew I was lonely.

I really dont think it would be appropriate,  
Folken said, speaking rather carefully. Youre far too old  
now. If youre having trouble sleeping, I can give you something  
to take for that, just something mild to help you relax and drift  
off. But there really is no room in my bed for anyone but  
me.

A-all right, said Van, lifting his head and backing  
away. Im sorry.

Theres no need to be, Folken said. Do you  
think I never wish I could go back to how I used to be, how things  
once were? Its a natural impulse. But one has to set it aside  
and face the way things are.

We can _change_ the way things are, Van said,  
almost rebelliously.

There are some things we cant change, Folken  
said softly, raising his steel hand. And some changes are meant  
to be. Theyre good for us, even if theyre difficult. I  
wouldnt have expected a boy your age to have difficulty with  
sleeping alone.

I - I wouldnt have, I _dont_ normally, you  
know that, I wasnt Van mumbled, looking ashamed of  
himself.

Ill get you that something, shall I? He left Van  
for a moment, closing the door to the inner room behind him, and  
returned with a glass of water and two small blue pills.

Swallow these, he directed, and head back to  
bed, and think of something pleasant and peaceful. If you arent  
asleep within the hour, you can complain in the morning. All  
right? He watched as Van took the pills, sipping the remaining  
water slowly to spin out the time before he returned to his room  
alone. Thats good. Good night, now. He guided Van  
to the door with an arm about his shoulders.

Good night, brother. Thank you. I - I do feel  
better.

Im glad. Folken shut the door behind him, quite  
firmly, and breathed a sigh of relief. Returning to his bedroom, he  
looked around in puzzlement.

Chesta, where did you get to? I couldnt see you when I  
came through before.

Under the bed for safe keeping, said a muffled voice.  
What did he want?

A cuddle and a bedtime story.

What, really? Chesta put his head out from beneath the  
bed, a little frown of disbelief on his face.  
 _Van-sama?_ 

Its probably a good sign, said Folken, sitting  
down and beckoning him to join him on the bed. My impression is  
hes scared himself with how far hes gone and hell  
moderate his behaviour a bit from now on. Hes got that guilty  
look he always had as a child, that always meant hed done

 _something_ , we just didnt know what yet. Now, I  
dont want to think about Van any more. I just want to think  
about you.

Am I that interesting? Chesta asked with a teasing  
smile as he straddled Folkens lap, linking his arms behind his  
head.

Of course youre interesting. He stroked the  
boys downy cheek; he wondered sometimes when Chesta was really  
going to begin growing facial hair, and whether it would bother him.  
He certainly didnt mind his pubic hair, unusually soft and the  
dark, golden brown colour of honey, but that was rather different.

In some ways I know you so very, very well, and in others  
were barely acquainted. Sometimes I think I wish Id known  
you all your life - but then probably it couldnt have been like  
this, if Id know you from childhood. Id always see the  
cute little baby boy instead of the rather hot young man.

No no no, said Chesta, that would be  
 _awful_. Dont even think it. He kissed Folkens  
mouth, softly, gently sucking at his lower lip to awaken a tingling  
deep inside, then drew back and gave him one more flirtatious smile  
before pulling his nightshirt off over his head, revealing himself  
naked.

I do want to know you, though. I want you to tell me all  
about yourself. _If I really take the trouble to get to know  
you, and love that boy, its not so much as if Im using  
you, is it?_

All about me? Like what I think about when Im  
alone? How I touch myself?

That might be a start. Folken eased himself backwards  
on the bed, drawing Chesta down in his arms.

You just want to fantasise about me fantasising about  
you, Chesta smiled.

 _Do_ you fantasise about me?

Of _course_ I do! Youre my favourite one now.  
Nearly my one and only.

Chess youd never, um, done anything with anyone  
before me, had you?

Unless you count the time Anar Coney kissed me on the cheek  
behind the school bike-shed and then lost his nerve, pushed me over  
and ran off, no.

So I was the first person to kiss your mouth, and touch your  
body? I was the first person to make you come?

Except _me_ , obviously. He kissed Folkens  
neck, seeming a little bored with the subject.

O-of course. A little pause, while Chestas lips  
warmed his skin. Um - Chesta?

Mm?

What was it like, your first orgasm? I mean I wish I  
 _could_ have been the one will you tell me about  
it?

Hmm. Chesta raised his head, looking thoughtful.  
Are we talking about the first time I came as in _squirt_ ,  
or just the first time I messed with myself and got a really nice  
feeling? I cant tell you about the first time with that because  
I did it on and off for ages as a kid, and I cant honestly  
remember the beginning. I mean, you know how a little boy can play  
with himself and get all hard and it feels great, but nothing comes  
out. He snuggled down again, nuzzling against Folkens  
cheek. Did you use to do that?

Well, a bit. He paused a moment. I remember when  
I was small, I had a nursemaid, who when I couldnt go to sleep  
at night, or if I woke up upset from a bad dream, would give me a  
sort of massage all over, and finish up by stroking my stiff little -  
very little then - dragon. She was foreign, though I cant  
remember from where, and she told me this was what they always did  
for children in her country. She would stroke her hands all over me  
until I felt warm and dreamy, and finish it off with - well, a lovely  
shiver, and Id nod off right after that but as you say,  
it wasnt coming as in _squirt_.

I never heard of people doing that before. It sounds nice. I  
mean, if its _just_ stroking the kid off, not making him  
do anything else.

Well, I thought it was nice, but my mother came in one  
evening unexpectedly to check on me, and she didnt think so.  
That nursemaid was gone the next day. I felt horribly guilty about  
it.

Why? None of it was your fault.

Dont you know I always feel guilty if anything is  
wrong around me?

Thats why youre going to make everything in the  
world better, Chesta said, giving him a smoochy little kiss on  
the cheek. My hero. Ive never felt guilty about  
 _anything_ to do with sex.

You lucky little thing.

I can tell you _all_ about the first time I

 _really_ came. I was only _just_ thirteen, and living in my  
uncles house in Wadlen.

Thats such a dismal city. Its hard to imagine  
you there.

Oh, I know, everythings covered in coal soot, and when  
it rains the rain stinks and it stings if it falls on your skin.  
Orrible. Now, you need to imagine me at thirteen. I looked  
about like this, I suppose, just a few centimetres shorter, and I had  
only just had that proper growth spurt where, among other things, you  
develop a lot down below.

I found it _scary_ when that happened to me. Id  
always thought I knew where I was with my penis and suddenly it was  
an oversized stranger.

Youre not _over_ sized, youre exactly right.  
Long and thick and lovely.

Well, it looked oversized to me.

You said penis.

I know, cant you see me blushing?

Youre so adorably weird. _An_ -yway I  
wasnt scared, I was pretty fascinated. I really liked how my  
body was changing. It just made me feel very sexy to know that I was  
getting to be like a real man. I actually used to get hard sometimes  
thinking about what was tucked away in my pants, not in a vain, oh my  
cocks so gorgeous kind of way, just thinking about the fact  
that _I_ had this body ready for sex.

Thirteen-year-olds are not ready for sex, darling.

Well all right, I wasnt _fully_ up and running,  
but I could feel I was getting there.

Did you know you liked boys back then?

Chesta frowned thoughtfully. Thats a bit of a funny  
point. I just really liked the idea of _sex_ in general. All my  
ideas about it were really vague, although I didnt realise that  
at the time. I mean, when I imagined doing it, it was all about what  
it would feel like to me, not who Id be doing it with and what  
exactly wed do. I think I was turned on by boys _and_

girls - I remember one time a couple of other guys and I found a hole  
in a wall that let us look into the girls changing room at the  
public baths, and taking turns at this hole peeping in at breasts and  
bottoms, and being rock hard, but in a way what was getting me  
 _really_ hot was the fact that we were looking at something sexy  
and getting excited _together_. So I dont really know. I  
was a bit of a funny bunny. I used to get hard in the showers after  
PT at school. We always called that a stiffie, and it was kind of a  
running joke to see who had a stiffie today, not nastily, just a kind  
of friendly teasing, and I was famous for being the one who  
 _always_ got a stiffie, and - look, I _know_ this is weird  
\- that used to make me feel special and sexy too.

I bet you _were_ pretty sexy. Youre sure no-one  
tried it on?

I promise. Sometimes there was silly giggling and wrestling,  
and once, _once_ I was having a tussle with Gem Bass over the  
soap and he actually squirted on my leg, but I wasnt touching  
him or anything, it just happened. And I thought that was pretty  
nifty, but he was upset, and backed off calling me a fag, and I  
pointed out that he was the one who came, and a couple of other guys  
backed me up and he started _crying_. I was afraid they were  
going to give him a hard time but I think everyone was so embarrassed  
by the crying that they decided to let it go.

I have absolutely no experience of that kind of thing,

Folken said. A prince doesnt grow up surrounded by other  
boys in that way. I had a few playfellows, but there was never that  
kind of thrown-together intimacy. There was always reserve.

Well, you didnt miss _that_ much, and you and I  
can always make up for lost time together. Chesta pushed the  
front of the dressing-gown all the way open, gazing down at  
Folkens body, the smooth muscular form of his chest and stomach  
and the tangle of pale hair surrounding his waking member.  
Ooh that is _so_ much hotter than anything I saw in  
the school showers.

Dont get sidetracked, Chess. Tell me the  
story He allowed Chesta to trace a curlicue pattern on  
his belly with one fingertip, but would not yet let his hand move  
lower.

Okay well, I was walking home from school one day, and  
there was a cloudburst. It rained buckets, and I dashed into a shop  
doorway to try and keep dry, although I was pretty well sprinkled  
just in the couple of seconds I was out in it. I stood there watching  
these grey sheets of water come down and I knew I would get soaked if  
I tried to go home in it, even with my umbrella up. So I thought  
Id go into the shop and have a look round, and stay dry while I  
waited for the rain to be over.

It turned out to be a second-hand bookshop. Id never  
noticed what it was before because it didnt have much of a sign  
out front, just an anonymous sort of place in a narrow street. It was  
a narrow shop, too, but it went back a long way, with millions of  
tall dark shelves and a slightly too warm fusty smell and a little  
mezzanine with _more_ shelves that you reached by a little  
twisty staircase.

Your descriptive talents impress me.

Thank you. I got very good marks for compositions, you know.  
It felt a bit like a cave. There didnt seem to be anyone inside  
but me and the man sitting at the cash desk, and when the bell over  
the door went _ting_ he looked up and seemed a bit surprised to  
see me. But then he just went back to reading his book. So I wandered  
around. I climbed up to the mezzanine floor because it was such a  
neat staircase. Up there I was right under the roof and I could hear  
the rain drumming down. The books werent arranged in any way so  
a browser could just find something interesting easily. I was  
starting to wonder how the place made any sales. Then I noticed that  
in the aisle ahead of me someone had left a book open on the floor,  
lying face down. I thought Id be a good boy and pick it up and  
find a place on the shelf for it. So I turned it over. Guess what I  
saw.

I dont know.

You know _The Enchanter_? You know that great two-page  
colour picture where Milos going down on Cani with his cock  
dripping and Nyls rimming him from behind? Chesta was  
grinning.

Oh my God.

Thats what I thought! Id never seen anything  
 _like_ it! I shut the book, I was so surprised. Imagine my  
little pink startled face. And then I thought, hot _damn_ , and  
opened it up again - got the same page again, by good luck - and I  
just _stared_ at it, and really took in what it meant, these  
three boys getting it on, and my cock gave such a twitch - Id  
never got so hard so fast. Not that it takes much when youre  
thirteen.

And the Stiffie King, Folken teased him.

So I sat down and went back to the start of the book, with,  
yes, the stiffie of the year, and looked at every single picture -  
didnt bother reading the story yet - and I sat there with the  
rain drumming on the roof above me, and my heart pounding in my ears  
too, and all I could think was, I want _that_. I want to be one  
of those boys.

Id never seen a book like this before, you understand.  
A kid at school had brought in a vaguely raunchy paperback once, and  
we all read it and said wow, but the _detail_ , and the fact that  
it was all boys and men - it was so new, and so exciting, and I felt  
like Id discovered a hidden world. It was like magic that the  
book had been there for me to find. Or it had found me. I could see  
the place it had come from on the shelf, and I pulled out the book  
next to it, and it was like that too. I couldnt _believe_

it. There was this whole _shelf_ , this whole _row_ of  
gorgeous dirty books. My hands were shaking a bit, I can tell you. I  
couldnt possibly look through all of them, but I grabbed three  
plus _The Enchanter_ , which took care of my pocket-money for the  
week, and I went downstairs.

I felt _really_ shy about offering up books like that  
to buy, but I just had to have them. And I was thinking, well, they  
have them in the shop, they must be in the know, they must  
 _understand_. The guy looked at the books, and looked at me, and  
smiled, and I turned bright pink all over again, but he didnt  
say anything apart from the price until he was putting the books in a  
bag for me. Then he said "Would you like to come into the back room?  
Ive got some more stuff I could show a nice boy like you." I  
thought _that_ was a bit creepy and said no thank you very  
quickly and scampered out of the shop, where fortunately the rain had  
just tapered off and stopped or otherwise Id have got my lovely  
treasures very soggy.

I hurried home, and let myself in, and ran up to my room and  
shut the door and put a chair against it, because I didnt want  
 _anything_ to interrupt me, although I dont think anyone  
was home except the staff. This stiffie still hadnt gone down  
and I _really_ needed to do something about it, it was getting  
sore. So I sat down on the bed with _The Enchanter_ , and I undid  
my pants and let my cock pop out. And I started from the beginning  
again except this time I touched myself I stroked myself  
just like Im stroking you now.

A soft groan rose up in Folkens throat at the first touch,  
bringing a delighted smile to Chestas lips. You like  
this, dont you? You like hearing about me playing with  
myself.

Very much. Keep going.

It felt so good I was leaning back there, with my legs  
apart imagine me rubbing and squeezing with _this_

hand and _this_ hand cupped round my balls, just rolling  
them a little

Oh God

And I could see the head of my cock all red and hot  
let me pull back your foreskin, let me see you like that and I  
saw something different from before I was oozing out just a  
little bit of that hot wet oil, that pre-come stuff like you  
are now and I spread it out over the head of my cock, loving  
how wet and slippery it felt like this and I was getting  
rough now, because it felt so good I was really jerking

and I _felt_ like one of those boys, I felt like Milo stroking  
off for Nyl in the attic and I felt the most incredible  
shooting _rush_ , and that was it. And Im lying there  
feeling dizzy feeling better than I ever have in my  
 _life_  and there are these white blobs spattered all over  
my tummy and my shirt and still a little bit oozing out of my  
cock and _oh_ I felt so sexy and naughty and dirty. I  
mean it was just coincidence that that was my first time

but it felt like that book had triggered something in me, had made me  
ready.

I cant come as fast as a thirteen-year-old I  
need you Folken whispered. Chesta kissed him urgently,  
his tongue prodding into his hot mouth.

Do it to me take me Folken rolled him onto  
his front, and he raised his bottom eagerly, reaching back to spread  
his buttocks apart. His breath escaped in a thin hiss as he felt  
himself nudged open with fingertips, probed for a moment, then gently  
lubricated, the cool gel making his tender skin tingle, two,  
 _three_ fingers reaching into his heat and tightness. He bit  
back a yelp of pleasure as Folken touched a certain spot inside.

And _that_ would be your prostate gland, Folken  
said. It sounded as if he were smiling. Chesta couldnt remember  
him being this playful before; it was lovely.

Its quite incidental, but you feel very healthy. And  
thats my medical opinion. Movement, pressure, stroking,  
making him bite his lips, making him tremble. Youre in  
great shape.

Oh God Folken

Too much?

No! _More!_

If you want _more_  you could have my whole

 _hand_  or the dragon?

Dragon. Please, dragon.

Here he comes. The warm head against the tight rim,  
the instant of pain as he gave way, stretching to take in the long  
shaft, so deep, so deep; as he strained backwards their balls  
kissed.

Oh Chesta Folkens voice was hoarse in his  
own ears. Sweet Chesta He could hear the boy  
whimpering with the intensity of it; intensity of pleasure, hed  
been assured several times, not pain. He could feel himself on the  
very brink of orgasm now, hardly daring to move. He wanted so much to  
draw out the intimacy of their connection, the total embrace. On his  
knees, he bent forward to kiss between Chestas shoulderblades,  
flicking his tongue along the bumps of his spine.

Push, Chesta whispered.

I want to wait just a little bit. Reaching under the  
boys body, his good hand wrapped around his taut cock.  
Nice?

God _yes_ 

Do you feel like one of those naughty boys?

 _Yes_ 

Testing his control, he gently moved his hips as he squeezed  
Chestas cock and pulled his hand down its length, giving and  
taking pleasure together.

Folken ride me ride me hard I can take  
it

I want to be gentle.

I dont.

You dont? He pulled back slightly, then slid  
himself back in.

No ohh Back again, further out, back in,  
smacking home.

Sure? Slowly out, until only the head of the dragon  
was still buried, then a deep swift thrust into the darkness.

 _Aah!_ Yes! Keep going!

Like this?

 _YES!_ Chesta gasped, his mouth dry as sand, as  
he rammed himself backwards onto Folkens hardness, feeling a  
blissful tension gather in his balls, his bowels, his darkest  
depths.

Oh God Folken lost control, pounding himself in  
again and again, mindless, burning, falling, every muscle and nerve  
he possessed straining towards one desperately needed conclusion,  
until he came with a shout of joy. Blindly, he slowed his movements,  
coming to rest on top of Chestas slender body, pressing him  
down on the bed. After a long dizzy passage of delight, he became  
aware that the boy was straining to breathe, and reluctantly rolled  
off. Chesta turned to him immediately, throwing his arms around his  
neck and kissing him.

Did I make you happy? Chesta breathed.

 _So_ happy.

I need I need a little bit of help. He guided  
Folkens hand down to his cock, still hard and aching for  
release.

On it. He ran a stiff tongue-tip up the underside of  
the warm shaft, then gripped it firmly and rolled the head against  
the soft centre of his tongue.

 _Ohhh_ Chesta lifted his hips, quivering,  
then let them drop to the bed and pressed his thighs together on the  
sides of Folkens head. His fingers groped amid the softness of  
his hair, twisting and clenching, pulling him down. Taking the hint,  
Folken swallowed him up, his tongue softly, rhythmically rasping over  
the sensitive head as he sucked.

 _This must be a special type of perversion loving the  
feeling of his his cock in my mouth so much and  
knowing knowing soon Ill taste him, his salty milk,  
sucking him dry_ He sensed the spasm running through the  
boys tense body, heard him groan, and felt the thick spurt  
against the roof of his mouth, giving him a jolt of emotional  
satisfaction that was a ghost of the physical sensation of a minute  
ago.

He was still sucking, more gently now, swallowing the last traces  
and softly lapping Chesta clean. He eased off and kissed the tip of  
it goodbye. Chesta breathed out a drowsy sigh, gradually  
relaxing.

How was that?

Just perfect, he breathed. Thank you.

It really was my pleasure. He raised himself on his  
hands, looking down with a kind of pride in a job well done at  
Chestas softening cock, still rosily flushed and wet with his  
saliva; at the soft white skin of his inner thighs, spread wide to  
admit a lover.

There were traces of blood on the sheet under him.

 _No_. Folken blinked and looked again; the white linen under  
Chestas soft little buttocks bore blots of red; as the boy  
shifted gently he glimpsed a smear of the same red on his skin.

Oh God.

Whs wrong? Chesta asked, lifting his head  
sleepily.

T-turn over, sweetheart.

 _Again?_

I just need to look at you.

As he rolled onto his stomach, Chesta looked over his shoulder  
anxiously, picking up on the suppressed panic in Folkens voice.  
Whats the matter? You sound upset.

As gently as he could, he parted Chestas buttocks; blood and  
semen seeped together from the reddened opening of his anus.

Oh God, no. That thin thread of crimson in the white  
was like a savage accusation; looking down at his own body he saw his  
skin smeared with dirty brown and guilty red and felt physically  
sick.

 _What?_ Chesta craned back and glimpsed the  
blood. Wow. You really _did_ ride me hard.

I - Im sorry, Chesta, Im so sorry.

Occupational hazard, right? said Chesta with a little  
grin.

This is so wrong.

It doesnt even hurt that much. I didnt realise  
it was any worse than usual till you started going oh my  
God.

I - I have to get you cleaned up, I have to take care of you  
\- come on. Bathroom. Now, Chesta.

Do we _have_ to? Chesta half-whined.  
Im so comfortable.

Youre _injured!_ 

Folken-sama

Come on. He bundled Chesta out of bed and into the  
bathroom, made him stand at the sink, bending forward with legs apart  
while he dabbed with cotton wool and antiseptic.

Shee-whit - that _stings_ , Chesta complained.  
Be careful - ow!

Im sorry, Im sorry I have to try to get  
you clean

Its an asshole, Folken-sama, Im not sure it  
 _does_ clean.

How can you take this so _lightly?_ he demanded,  
anguished.

Why are you taking it so seriously? Chesta responded,  
looking earnestly puzzled. You did exactly what I wanted and I  
loved it. You havent upset me at all. You dont need to be  
so sorry. And a minute ago you were really having fun, youd  
loosened up more than Ive ever seen you do sober. I thought it  
was great.

That I got so careless that I _hurt_ you?

I _like_ it rough, you _know_ that, Chesta  
mumbled sulkily, putting his chin in his hands and pouting at his  
mirror image.

I cant cope with this, Folken whispered, leaning  
his head for a moment against the back of Chestas thigh.  
I _cant_.

Even knowing that I dont mind a bit?

Your not minding my doing something terrible to you  
doesnt make it any less terrible, Chesta. I cant excuse  
myself in that way.

But - but _I_ excuse you, I mean I forgive you - okay?  
I know you didnt mean to hurt me. And if you dont want to  
do it that way any more I understand. Turning, he knelt as  
Folken was kneeling, and softly touched his face. Its all  
right. I mean, we love each other, right? Ill be okay.  
Youve done very good first aid. Lets just go back to  
bed.

I dont know how you can say that, Folken said,  
shaking his head. Ive violated you.

Lots of times, Chesta said, smiling. I  
 _like_ it. Remember that! He leaned forward and tried to  
kiss his lover, although Folken drew back.

Ive hurt you.

Is this the face of a person who minds?

Chesta has this happened before, and I just  
havent noticed?

No, it really hasnt. Ive had some pains and some  
leaks but never a bleed. All right?

Its so _wrong_.

Well, think about it. Suppose I were a girl. The first time  
we did it youd have torn me and made me bleed, wouldnt  
you? Would you beat yourself up about that like this? He tipped  
his head on one side, looking at Folken, and sighed. Probably.  
Please - lets go back to bed.

Let me carry you.

You havent broken my _legs_.

Itll just make me feel a little better.

Back in their bed, they nestled together quietly, Folken cradling  
Chesta in his arms. He had been forbidden to say anything else about  
the incident; Chesta insisted that it was unimportant. He tried to  
tell himself that that was so, but it was almost impossible. He had  
to try and distract himself with other thoughts, to be relaxed and  
contented as Chesta seemed.

Chess? He touched the boys sweat-damp bangs,  
stroking them back from his forehead.

Mm?

I was just thinking of something you said before. Have you  
honestly _never_ felt any shame about sex?

Nope.

Even about being attracted to men?

No. I mean, I really didnt get that idea clear in my  
head until I got that first lot of books. And then I knew for  
certain, for ever, I wanted to be with men. There wasnt any  
doubt. And besides the dirty stories, in the back of one of those  
books was a written piece I dont know if youve seen  
it yet but it made such a difference to me. It was a sort of  
essay called "A Letter To Young Men," and it was all about what it  
meant to be homosexual, that there were lots of people who felt that  
way, and how happy we could be, and how careful wed have to be,  
and just - it was like having a kind, sensible big brother sit me  
down and explain all about it, so at the end I had no doubts, no  
worries, and I _knew_ it was nothing bad. Naughty, yes, but  
naughty _fun_. I understood myself and I felt happy.

Probably hardly anyone is that lucky.

I wish you could have been. Chesta reached up to push  
Folkens hair out of his eyes. Anyway after that,  
well, I understood you couldnt just tell all and sundry,  
because not everyone accepts it and I kept myself to myself a  
bit and I kept loving my books and daydreaming of when Id  
find _him_ , the right one to share all of that with. It  
wasnt long after that that we got back the results of some  
tests wed taken and I was told I was being called up for the  
Dragonslayers. And I came here and eventually, I found you.  
Perfect.

Did you - did you think Dilandau was the one, at  
first?

 _No,_ Folken. Hes gorgeous but I always knew he  
wasnt for me. Hes _way_ out of my league. So are  
you, of course but the difference is he _knows_

it.

Were were not meant to be together,  
Folken said slowly, feeling his throat tighten painfully. I  
cant stop coming back to the thought that its  
 _wrong_.

Why? _Why_ is it wrong? Chesta demanded, half  
sitting up. Because were fags? We cant _help_  
that! If I wasnt with you it wouldnt _stop_ me  
wanting men. And you! How long have you known? About yourself, I  
mean?

Not until I held you.

I didnt _make_ you homosexual, Folken. Or  
bisexual or whatever you are, God knows. Youre so tangled up  
about it I dont suppose you know yourself. You wouldnt  
not have to worry about it if it werent for me.

I didnt - I didnt mean that - look at our age  
difference, for one thing.

Chesta shook his head sadly. I know thats weird. If I  
could be five years older and you could be five years younger  
everything would be perfect. But this is how it _is_. We  
cant change when we were born, and I cant change how I  
feel about you. When you kissed me I knew you were the one Id  
been hoping for. Theres - theres a war on! We might never  
have this chance again. If it werent for this whole situation I  
suppose I would never have met you.

So only because were thrown  
together

 _No!_ Chesta cried, slapping his hand down on the  
pillow. There were tears in his eyes. Because youre  
 _wonderful!_ Please, Folken, dont dump me because  
youre scared! I couldnt cope without you. I would miss  
you so much, and feel so empty please dont dump me.  
He dropped his head on Folkens shoulder, sobbing; Folken felt  
the tears fall hot on his skin.

Chess - Chesta - no, no, I didnt mean my poor  
darling boy, shh, shhh Folken held him tight and stroked  
his hair, feeling quite helpless.

Thats the _only_ thing you could do that would  
hurt me, Chesta gulped. Im - Im sorry I  
shouted at you - Im sorry I was cheeky - please, please  
dont dump me.

I _couldnt_.

I love you so much.

I love you you must _know_ I love  
you

Then theres _nothing_ wrong with it.

The worst part of this is that I have no idea whos  
right you or I

B-but Ive got an authority to back me up, Chesta  
said, wiping his eyes and trying to smile, a rather watery effort.

Me and the author of "A Letter To Young Men" versus you and  
your guilt. We win.

Id love to believe you.

Oh, and Im crying, so extra points for that.

Chesta!

Smile. Go on, give in and smile. Youre so beautiful  
when you do. I feel like everything can be all right, somehow, when  
you smile at me.

Folken gave in.

Good Strategos. Chesta kissed him on the cheek..

You have been unprecedentedly cheeky tonight. He saw  
Chesta cringe a little. Id like to see that _set_ a  
precedent. I think I need you to tell me off more often.

I dont know if I can, Chesta said, with a  
half-guilty little laugh. I really have to forget myself to  
talk like that. I dont think I can do it on purpose. But  
Ill try for you.

He snuggled down at Folkens side, and once again he felt the  
warm trusting weight of a boys head resting on his  
shoulder.

Good night, Chess.

Good night.

Folken stared up at the ceiling. _Dont dump me because  
youre scared. Im _so _scared. I didn't see it till  
you said that._


	16. Chapter 16

Once Chesta had left in the small hours of the morning, Folken was  
unable to get back to sleep. He was still feeling so guilty that his  
stomach hurt almost constantly; he doubted he would be able to get  
any breakfast down. His sleep had been light and unrestful, so he  
felt tired on top of it. Every time the psychosomatic discomfort  
eased slightly he would remember - no, would conscientiously remind  
himself - of the blood, and it would stab back. He had an ache low in  
his rectum that he supposed was some sort of well-deserved  
sympathetic pain.

 _I have to get over it. Chesta says its not important. He  
should know; its his body. Come on, man. Youve unlearned  
a guilt reaction before. Be reasonable about it._ He forced  
himself to stop thinking about it by spending a couple of hours  
devising solutions for engineering problems with the new Oreades. At  
least there was that, his ability to turn off the personal part of  
his mind while he worked, as long as he did not get too close to the  
zone where they intersected.

Van. He should have paid more attention to Van, but he was in such  
a stupid horny mood that he hadnt wanted to listen. Dismissing  
it so easily something serious could be happening in the  
boys mind, and he had brushed off a perfectly good chance of  
finding out what. With a little gentle coaxing and patience Van would  
surely have confided in him and he would have known exactly where he  
stood.

Setting aside the Oreades files, he turned to the screen on which  
he could view surveillance footage. Time to catch up. Time to do  
penance, to resume his neglected duty. Perhaps things could be set  
right with Van, if not with Chesta.

As the footage of last night began to play, he felt a twinge of  
impatience with the limitations of the camera. That was something  
else to retool, if he ever got time. A monochrome picture, not too  
sharply focused - no _sound_ , why had he ever thought it  
didnt matter to have no sound? - and limited by the placement  
of the hidden lens. The scopes on the Alseides were far better than  
this; they could zoom in, for one thing.

 _Anyway_ There was Van, lying on his bed and reading a  
book. He must be doing his silent study. Folken would have preferred  
it if hed sat up straight at his desk, but he seemed to be  
concentrating dutifully. For a long time the view was only of Van  
doing this. Small movements did not show up too well onscreen, so if  
he shifted slightly as he lay it was not apparent, and he seemed to  
lie motionless except for when he turned a page. Growing a little  
impatient, Folken ran the footage at fast-forward until, to his  
surprise, he saw another figure spring into the frame. Taken aback,  
he rewound to just before the newcomers entrance and resumed  
normal playback.

 _Dilandau? Really?_ _What would he be doing there?_ He  
seemed to be speaking to Van, who was largely ignoring him. _I wish  
I could see his face, but no, he _would _stand with his back to  
the camera. Why is he - my God! Whys he taking off his clothes?  
Hes stopped come on, read for clues, posture, body  
language he looks as though hes issuing a challenge.  
Picking a fight. Is that the idea? Yes, I think so hes  
put down his sword and hes challenging Van to some kind of  
bareknuckle bout. Doesnt want any more cuts, I suppose._

 _Van isnt rising to the bait. Good boy. Not interested in  
a fight. But I suppose _something _must happen, or what  
was he upset about when he came to me?_

The little monochrome Van rolled onto his back, still refusing to  
attack or defend himself. A few moments later Dilandau vaulted onto  
the bed, and Folken expected to see a punch thrown, but they remained  
frozen in tableau for a time, still talking. Van clearly was having  
none of it; he put his book between them like a screen. And  
then Folken felt his face grow hot with embarrassment and shock  
as Dilandau dropped his head to kiss Vans stomach. With a  
panicky stab, he hit the pause control, stopping them cold.

 _My God. My God! I - I cant watch that! Would - would Van  
really - I cant watch my brother do _that! _Have that done  
to him. Whatever._ He pushed back his chair andpaced  
across the room, distancing himself from the shocking view. He put  
his cold steel hand to his face, trying to cool his flaming cheeks.

 _This is not happening. I do not have a tape of Dilandau Albatou  
going down on my brother. How dare he! Whats going _on? _  
Have I misread the whole situation? I thought Dilandau_ hated _  
him. Hes not_ really _, is he? Surely Van pushes him off.  
But - but I cant stand to watch to find out._ At an impasse,  
he sat down at the dining table and drummed his fingers on the wood  
for a moment.

Someone ran past in the corridor outside, inconsiderately noisy;  
he straightened up with relief as a new thought came. _The footage  
of the corridor outside. Dilandau must leave at some stage. I should  
be able to tell from the manner of his leaving what happened, some  
kind of clue, without seeing anything to make me feel squeamish.  
Its worth a try, anyway._ Returning to his original seat, he  
changed the settings and called up the corridor cameras  
records.

 _There he is, going in._ After that, nothing happened in the  
corridor for a painfully long and suspenseful time. Then, his heart  
leapt as he saw Dilandau tumble out of the door and land in a heap on  
the opposite side of the corridor, almost out of frame.

 _Yes! Van, you little gem! Hes thrown him out! And his  
things. Oh, thank God. Bless you, Van. No wonder you were upset, poor  
thing. A sexual assault, intimidation tactics I suppose he was  
fighting fire with fire after that unfortunate lick incident. You  
must have realised how badly you were behaving, and thats why  
you got so upset. Too ashamed to tell me the whole story, poor little  
thing. _The tension left his back and shoulders and he sat back  
with a sigh, shutting off the monitor. There was a moments  
peace before the pain in his stomach reasserted itself and his throat  
tightened with shame.

 _I practically threw him out myself, when hed been  
assaulted and came to me for comfort. He needed a kind big brother,  
someone to hold him in his arms and tell him it was all right, it  
wasnt his fault, and instead I said take these pills and call  
me in the morning. Oh God. The shame and confusion he must be  
feeling and I cant _say _anything because its  
an intrusion. If there isnt enough trust between us for him to  
tell me about something like that, itll be utterly destroyed if  
I tell him I watch him. And the way he expressed himself_

as if it were a bad dream that he couldnt entirely  
remember was he lying out of embarrassment, or was that his  
true perception? His mental state could be terribly precarious - and  
I cant try to do anything to help him, to find out more about  
it, without doing something that would make it all much worse.  
Goddamnit! His clawed hand tightened involuntarily on the arm of  
his chair, deforming the metal frame.

 

Dilandau sat at the breakfast table pushing his porridge around  
with a spoon. He wasnt sure he could swallow solid food; his  
throat felt so tight and sore. It was like having a permanent lump in  
his throat, being on the verge of angry tears. The porridge looked  
far too thick and lumpy. He had not put honey on it; it was probably  
going to taste awful. Across the table Migel was putting _salt_  
on his porridge; how could he? His mouth filled with the taste of  
salt and he had to take a deep breath in order not to gag.

Sitting beside him (rather carefully, as his bottom was feeling  
tender today), Chesta nervously flicked his eyes Dilandaus way  
for a moment, trying to take a thorough look at him without obviously  
doing so.

 _Wheres his diadem? He always, but_ always _wears it.  
He was so upset when it went missing before. He hasnt said a  
word about it today. And hes just picking at his food.  
Dilandau-samas _always _got a healthy appetite. What  
_ happened _last night? I cant believe I went out. I should  
have stayed in the dorm. Couldve avoided that whole mess with  
Folken-sama for one thing. But I was so keen to see him I snuck  
out nearly as soon as he was in bed. Oh, its not fair!  
Were both upset at the same time._ He wished like anything  
that he could confide in Dalet, sitting on his other side.

The rhythm of the spoon in the bowl had become almost hypnotic.  
Every boy at the table was uncomfortably conscious of its chinking.  
It seemed to bind them all in to Dilandaus unknown misery,  
helpless to help him. Although most of them were trying to eat a  
decent breakfast, it was a strain, and some had simply laid down  
their cutlery and were waiting for mealtime to be over.

The door opened, interrupting the rhythm. The spoon was still.  
Every head but Dilandaus went up, to see Van framed in the  
doorway. Dilandau didnt need to look; he knew who it would be.  
A few minutes late; making an entrance. He knew so well how all that  
worked.

 _Ill brazen it out. I wont even look at him.  
Ill pretend like nothing has happened._

Good morning, everyone, said  
Van, his voice commonplace and polite.

Good morning, Van-sama, replied an uncertain  
chorus.

 _I cant do it._ Dilandau shoved back his chair, almost  
knocking it over as he stood up, and made for the door. _I have to  
go past him but Ive got to get out of here. I cant stay  
where he is._ He walked fast with his head down, unwilling to see  
him. A hand touched his arm, stopped him, sent a shock through him  
like a static-electricity jolt. He stood still, trembling and  
sweating, refusing to look up.

Dilandau, said Van softly. It was the softness that  
shocked him, the gentle tone of voice. He blinked in agitation.

Are you all right? Van went on.

Y-you know Im not all right, he managed to  
say.

Im sorry.

 __ _What?_  
Dilandaus head came up unthinkingly and he stared at Van.

Im sorry. You have every right to be mad at me. I lost  
control and I was too rough with you. Please forgive me. His  
eyes were so kind, and somewhere, in the depths of their darkness, so  
mocking. His voice was soft but perfectly clear. Everyone could hear  
him.

You left this in my room, Van continued, holding out  
the diadem. I thought youd want it back.

Dilandau snatched it from his hand and held it to his chest,  
taking half a step back. His heart was hammering; his skin was clammy  
with sweat under the leather.

Dilandau please Im sorry. Wont you  
forgive me? Van held out his hand, speaking sweetly,  
poisonously sweetly.

 _I want to scream. I want to say, fuck you! I cant say a  
word._ In desperation, he flung the diadem hard at Vans  
face, turned and ran out the door.

A shocked hush settled in the dining hall. Van had managed to  
deflect the diadem with a hand before his face, and it was gently  
spinning on the floor where it had fallen. He lowered his hand and  
looked down at it pensively.

I guess he needs time to calm down, he murmured,  
seemingly to himself, and stooped to pick it up. Hooking it on one of  
the straps of his jacket, he proceeded to the serving hatch, every  
eye in the hall following him agog. Chesta and Dalet exchanged  
agonised glances.

Van disappeared for a while after breakfast. Although Dilandau  
(who they found sitting silently on his bed when they returned to the  
dorm) gave no orders, the Dragonslayers proceeded to the training  
hall for morning exercises on general consensus that they ought to be  
doing _something_. After a minute, Dilandau followed them and  
sat down on a bench by the wall. After a while any pretence of  
exercising was abandoned, and the boys clustered at the far end of  
the hall, whispering.

He looks totally out of it. Look at him. Do you think  
hes even aware of us?

Its like hes in a trance.

What do you think _happened?_

Well, _duh._

 _Seriously?_ I mean, you  
think they - you know, they did it?

Sounded like a lovers quarrel to me.

I just - I mean - _Dilandau-sama?_ You really think  
hes - you know?

A fag?

A poofter?

A shirt-lifter? There were a few nervous giggles at  
the naming of the love that dared not speak its name.

At my school _fag_ meant a junior boy who was like a  
servant for a senior.

At my school it was just slang for cigarettes. Youd  
have a fag behind the bike-sheds at break.

More suppressed sniggering; the mood was a little hysterical. The  
idea made them all so nervous that they had to be silly about it.

And you know, guys who wanted to show off about what heavy  
smokers they were would say things like "Im dying for a fag" or  
"I cant relax till Ive got a fag in my  
mouth"

Shuddup, Biore! Youre awful!

You shouldnt be making fun of him like this.  
Wheres your loyalty?

Were _not_ making fun of _him_ , Chess.  
Were just I dunno

__ _Dilandau-sama?_

And - and didnt it sound  
like Dilandau-sama was - you know, like Van-sama was the one on  
top?

Can you believe _that?_

A thoughtful pause.

I could only believe it if it _was_ Van-sama. Anyone  
else, Dilandau-sama would be in charge.

I cant believe youre speculating about things  
like that! You ought to be ashamed!

Chesta, Chesta, Chesta. Im sure in your little world  
dirty things like this just dont happen, but maybe you want to  
join the rest of us in the real, grown-up world?

Hey, leave Chess alone. Hes just trying to stick up  
for him.

I dont care if its _dirty._ The point is  
its totally disloyal to Dilandau-sama to talk about him behind  
his back like this. Its none of our business.

So youre admitting Van-sama _could_ be boning  
him.

I didnt say that! I cant believe  
 _youd_ say that! Have you forgotten what he means to all  
of us?

An uncomfortable, guilty pause.

Yeah well no-ones saying anything about  
that its just, you know you see someone in a  
different light

I cant believe hed let someone do that to  
him.

What do they actually _do?_

God, Guimel! Do the words "up the  
ass" mean anything to you?

I know about _that_. I mean do they, like, kiss  
and stuff? Like normal people?

How do you expect any of us to know?

Yeah.

Does this mean theyre in _love_ or  
what?

Is that _love?_

Again,  
 _Dilandau-sama?_

Its all so  
 _weird._

I mean, Van-sama had his diadem.  
And he was out after lights-out last night. Anyone see him come  
back?

I did. And Chesta too. He slept in the dorm last  
night.

Doesnt mean they couldntve you  
know.

Okay, obviously _somethings_ going on, but  
its none of our business and weve got no right to go  
assuming things.

Dilandau watched them through his eyelashes. His senses seemed to  
be morbidly acute today; he could hear every word they said.

 _Chesta trying to protect me. Well, youre a good  
boy. A good, dumb little boy I can count on. And the rest of  
you some of you hes taken you away from me. In a  
way I never saw coming. Worthless, faithless little but I  
shouldnt waste perfectly good rage on you. I should save it for  
him. God how could he? Where does he get the _nerve _to  
walk in there and make it sound like were lovers? And he made  
it sound like he was the _nice _one! Apologising to me! Making  
it a foregone conclusion! Fuck him!_

He pinched his lips together, biting them on the inside, feeling  
the lining of his throat throb. _Ive got to get him back.  
Ive got to strike at him the way he struck at me. Humiliate  
him. Take something away from him, something precious._

 _What could there be? What could I do?_

Id heard rumours about  
Van-sama, but

What kinda rumours? And why didnt you share?

Well, this one just sounded _silly_. About him and his  
brother too. The Strategos?

I think Ive heard this one too. That theyre  
demons?

Demons!

Yeah, full-on demons with wings and everything.

The way I heard it theyre only half-caste.

They havent got _wings._ What a lot of  
bullshit!

They can pull their wings into their backs, like a cat can  
pull in its claws.

Uh-huh. Yeah. And theyve got long tails that they can  
pull in up their bums. And Ive got a bright pink  
beard.

You dont have to be so sarky about it, Dalet. The way  
things are going these days it feels like anything could be  
true.

Whered this rumour start, anyway?

I think someone heard it from one of the sickbay  
nurses.

But you wouldnt have the name of anyone whos  
actually seen either of them with wings?

Well no

Lets stick to speculating about what weve seen  
with our own eyes, shall we?

I could believe Van-samas a demon, though. I  
mean look at the way he acts. And Folken-sama, look at the way  
he _looks!_

Demon brothers, right at the heart  
of Zaibachs military. Now _theres_ a freaky  
thought.

And Ive heard tell there are nasty little gnomes in  
the toilets that like to jump up and bite your balls when youre  
taking a dump. Can we _please_ let this rumour go?

 _Good sense from Migel, there and Dalet has said a few  
things in my behalf I think theyre okay. Guimel_

well, Guimel will go where hes pointed. Gatti and Biore, by  
now, I dont trust at all. And the others? Oh, fuck the others.  
I cant think of them now. It all comes back to Van.  
Van.

The morning seemed interminable, but eventually lunchtime came  
round. He sat at the table looking at his food as if he could absorb  
it that way. There was an odd, off-kilter mixture of chatter and  
quiet around him, as some people had evidently decided it didnt  
matter any more, and others were trying harder to show respect for  
him because he had said and done nothing to demand it. It had begun  
to feel unreal to him. The real world had shrunk down to a place that  
only held Van and him. How would he feel if he saw him right now? He  
didnt have to worry about that for a while he had lunch  
with his brother

 _Of course._

Without ceremony, he got up and left the dining hall, oblivious to  
Chesta staring after him, panic-stricken, the worried looks on other  
countenances, and the hushed sniggers of a few who considered this  
one more piece of proof that he was going off the deep end.

As he walked down the corridors, he felt his heart begin to beat  
more strongly, his blood to grow warm. It was like waking up,  
returning to himself, as his sense of purpose grew. The meal period  
had only just begun; he would have lots of time before Van came back,  
surely - if Van _did_ return to his room after lunch. The door.  
Not locked. _Yes._ He slid it open and slipped inside, coming to  
rest with his back against the door, breathing deeply.

 _His room. Im in his room alone, his place. He cant  
see me, he cant stop me. Oh yes. I can do whatever I want in  
here. I can stab my sword through his bed. I can carve my name in the  
wall. I can take his goddamn book and tear out every page and  
stuff them down the toilet._

He drifted a little further in, looking around, his eyes wide and  
bright. The room was not tidy; he observed with scorn that Van had  
left his bed unmade, some balls of screwed-up paper on the desk and  
lying around the wastepaper basket, wet towels on the floor by the  
shower recess. His eye was caught and drawn by the one thing of  
beauty in the room besides himself, the black silk dressing-gown hung  
over the back of the chair, its blood-red embroidery blazoned before  
his eyes. On the back, in thousands of tiny satiny stitches, was  
worked a serpentine red dragon, clasping the tip of its tail in its  
jaws. That silk, he thought, would feel as soft as water against his  
skin.

He felt a little as though he were moving in a dream, a lucid  
dream that he was able to direct and enjoy. He slipped out of his  
jacket, letting his swordbelt and overskirt fall to the floor, and  
put on the dressing-gown over his shirt and trousers. His bare arms  
came up in pleasurable goosebumps at its cool kiss.

 _I want to see how I look._ There was a small mirror over the  
sink, but perhaps - yes. A full-length job on the inside door of the  
closet.

 _Oh, but Im beautiful still beautiful_ He  
raised a hand to cover the hateful scar on his cheek and gazed at his  
reflection for a long moment. Beautiful and dangerous, the midnight  
silk in elegant contrast to his translucent white skin.

 _I want to feel the silk kiss me all over._ Taking off the  
gown for a moment, he pulled off his shirt, tugged off his boots and  
shinguards and kicked his trousers and underwear away across the  
floor. A little more mess in here wouldnt show up. He slipped  
his arms through the sleeves, crossed the lapels over his chest and  
tied the sash. _Yes. This is just right. It looks_ so _good on  
me, so much better than on him. I was made to wear something like  
this._ He experimented a little with the sash, trying it in a knot  
and in a loose bow, flirting with his reflection.

 _Shall I blow you a kiss? Oh, look at_ you _, boy_

He pushed his fingers back through his hair, white silk above black  
silk, back to caress the nape of his neck and his shoulders, arching  
his back like a cat being stroked. His hands stroked on down over his  
chest, and beneath the layer of silk he felt his nipples rise, hard  
little buttons. His warm palms swept back up, making them tingle  
again. A flush of excitement was rising in his cheeks and lips, and  
his eyes shone back at him from the mirror, dark wine red.

Slowly, teasing himself with suspense, he spread the lapels of the  
dressing-gown open, the vee of fair, smooth skin expanding as the  
silk slid away over his shoulders. His nipples were exposed,  
rose-pink and tender, telegraphing little pulses of warm delight to  
his groin as he tickled and pinched them.

Gazing at himself from beneath his eyelashes, he softly kissed the  
palms of his hands, his fingers, sucked his fingertips and nipped at  
their pads. With wet fingertips, he traced spirals around his  
nipples, closing in on the sensitive centre, drawing a soft little  
sigh to his lips.

He was ready for more; he wanted to touch himself as his erection  
grew, feeling his cock stiffen and swell in his loving hands. He  
swung the door of the closet wide so he would still be able to see  
himself in the mirror, and crossed the room to sit on the bed. As he  
leaned back, untying the belt, the silk slipped over his tingling  
skin and made him gasp with pleasure, liquid blackness flowing away  
from the flushed shaft half-standing between his thighs. Pulling the  
sleeve down over his hand, he brushed it over himself again and  
caught his breath at the fiery tickle it awakened, feeling like the  
touch of another.

He stripped out of the gown entirely and wadded it between his  
hands, crumpling it into a black rose veined with crimson, and thrust  
his swollen cock into its softness. The closet door had swung back on  
itself, cutting off his view; he wondered what he must look like from  
the outside, rising on his knees and pumping his hips against silky  
friction. He was lost in the embrace of his demon-lover. The sweet,  
wicked transgression of what he was doing doubled his pleasure.

 _Take this, Van. I wish you could see me now._

As if on cue, the door slid open and Van stood framed in its  
architrave. Dilandaus head snapped up to stare at him; their  
eyes met and for a moment he had the peculiar impression that Van was  
almost ready to cry. Then a deep blush darkened his cheeks; then a  
glint of anger showed in his eyes. Dilandau remained motionless and  
speechless on the bed.

Hello, Dilandau, said Van, stepping into the room and  
sliding the door shut behind him. Well. I didnt expect to  
find you here. I came back to get the meds Im supposed to take  
with lunch; Id forgotten them. He walked over to his  
chair and sat down, turning it backwards so he could rest his arms  
and chin on its back. In that position he regarded Dilandau for  
several seconds.

What would you be doing if I hadnt come in? he  
whispered. Keep going. I - I want to watch you.

Still looking into Vans dark eyes, Dilandau began to thrust  
once more. He had lost none of his arousal in that little  
intermission, and Vans gaze on him seemed to heighten it. He  
was motionless except for the tip of the thumb of one of his folded  
hands, stroking over and over the borders of his lips as he  
watched.

Dilandau closed his eyes and tilted back his head, losing himself  
completely in feverish sensation. Everything was drawing sweetly  
tight inside him; he quickened his pace, groaning, heard Vans  
startled voice say Wait, isnt that my and  
broke through into a spasm of delight.

His thighs were trembling; he carefully lowered himself down to  
sit back on his haunches. He flipped back his head to throw the damp  
strands of hair off his forehead, and opened his eyes.

You dirty bastard, Van said tightly.

Oh, I know, he sighed, but it did feel _so_  
good. Holding the bundle of silk in place with his left hand,  
he stroked back his hair with his right, smiling faintly. And  
you liked it.

Give it back.

All right. With a snake-quick movement, he threw the  
crumpled dressing-gown in Vans face, covering his head; as he  
struggled with it Dilandau snatched his underwear from the floor and  
slipped back into it. No need to give Van any more of a free show  
than hed already had.

Van dragged the robe off his head, red-faced and glaring. To  
Dilandaus utter delight, there was a sticky white smear across  
his cheek.

How do you like the taste of your own medicine? he  
asked, grinning.

Shut up. Ill punish you for that.

And yet, somehow, I think it wont be today. With  
a step as light as his heart, he moved around the room gathering up  
and putting on his scattered clothing. Van was still sitting on the  
chair, breathing heavily and glowering at him.

This was a present from my brother, he said, holding  
up the dressing-gown, and youve ruined it.

M-hm! Dilandau shrugged on his jacket and stretched  
his fingers inside his gloves.

I bet you think youre clever.

Oh, I know I am.

Youre nothing so special.

Oh, come on, Van. Dilandau laughed softly. He  
hadnt felt this _free_ in days. He wanted to hold onto it  
as long as it lasted. Your brother could tell you  
otherwise.

Whats that supposed to mean?

Well, think about it. Hes in charge of the whole  
Dragonslayer project. When you think about it, I have to be pretty  
much his ideal, dont you think? The thought had only just  
come to him, bubbling up joyously inside.

Dragonslayer, Van spat the name out. As if  
youd know the first thing about fighting dragons.

Well, said Dilandau, putting his finger to his chin in  
an exaggerated pose of thought, I _believe_ the first  
thing is to keep clear of the head, because that end has teeth in it  
and spits fire. But a close second is to keep clear of the tail,  
because that ends pointy. Youre not going to get in a hit  
anywhere on the back or the flanks, because the skins so tough.  
You want to get in under the tail and go for the soft underbelly.  
Thats been my experience.

Your _experience?_ How many dragons have you supposedly  
killed?

Counting shared kills? Four. Did you think it was just a  
snazzy name? He smiled mockingly. Every boy in the  
squadron has killed at least one, although not all of them have done  
it independently. We were the scourge of the dragons of Zaibach,  
until their population got too low and we had to stop to let them  
recover, the big babies.

Youre lying, said Van tightly.

If you dont believe me, you can ask your brother to  
let you have a look at my personnel file, Dilandau said,  
shrugging. Its all there in black and white. Along with a  
rather fetching picture. Maybe you could ask him to let you keep  
that. Its only a headshot, but you can use your imagination,  
right?

Get out of this room now, before I get up and hurt  
you.

Bye-bye, Van. Dilandau blew him a kiss as he headed  
for the door. And now? Yes, I do forgive you. I think  
were even.

The door hissed shut beside him; Van remained in his chair,  
fighting a battle between arousal and outrage. He had never seen  
anything, _anything_ , that made him feel as the sight of  
Dilandau naked had. _Well, I say naked. I still didnt get to  
see everything. _The confusion was mind-numbing; he was so  
painfully angry, felt so invaded, was that the right word? And  
now he had to be frustrated on top of that. Dilandau had made a fool  
of him.

He lunged to his feet, grabbing the chair, ready to smash it  
against the desk, trying to vent some of the rage he felt. The door  
opened and he was left looking foolish as he tried to pretend he was  
just moving it.

Folken stood in the door way, peering in with an inquiring  
expression. Vans heart kicked inside his chest. _Oh God. Did  
he see Dilandau leaving?_

Are you all right, Van?  
Folken asked. You took such a long time collecting your meds I  
thought I should come and check on you.

Im - Im fine, said Van. With a further  
kick of horror, he realised there was something smeared on his face;  
he could guess what. Hastily he wiped at his cheek with the back of  
his hand, hoping that had got it before Folken noticed. He was moving  
into the room, looking around with a kind of fastidious  
exasperation.

Honestly, Van, cant you keep this place any neater? I  
dont want to sound like the pot calling the kettle black, but I  
dont have this much of a mess in my room. Your sheets are half  
off the bed. Those towels arent going to dry on the floor. And  
\- oh, _really._

He was looking at the crumpled dressing-gown which had fallen on  
the floor. Before Van could move or speak, he had stooped and picked  
it up, shaking it out of its folds with an old-maidish look on his  
face.

This was a _present._ You should try to take care of a  
garment like this. What _is_ this mess youve got on  
it? He took a closer look and the air of the room filled almost  
palpably with mutual embarrassment.

Folken cleared his throat nervously and looked up at Van, who  
realised with acute discomfort, as he saw his brothers eyes  
focus on one area of his face, that he had not quite removed all the

mess. It must show up worse than ever against the red of  
his blushing. His face felt hot enough to cook on.

For Heavens sake, Van, said Folken,  
theres a time and a place. I know I told you you could  
feel free to do this, but this was not what I had in mind.

 _That bastard, that_ bastard! _Theres nothing I can  
say!_

Im sorry, he muttered  
wretchedly. I - I didnt mean

I dont want to hear an explanation, said Folken.  
He pushed the dressing-gown into Vans hands. I suggest  
you put that in cold water before the stain sets. Then find your meds  
and come back to my room to finish your lunch. And please, exercise  
some self-restraint from now on. I dont know if you realise how  
uncomfortable youve made me feel.

It wasnt on purpose, Van mumbled.

I expect you just didnt think. Would that be it? Try  
it next time, Van, it takes only a moment and it could save both of  
us a lot of embarrassment. Being able to talk about it is one thing,  
but I didnt mean for us to _share_ in quite this  
way. He turned and stalked away, leaving the room.

Once he felt fairly sure Folken would be out of earshot, Van did  
throw the chair.


	17. Chapter 17

Folken sat in his room alone, making a hopeless attempt to finish  
his paperwork before Chesta arrived. There was a mountain of it  
tonight; some fool somewhere (possibly himself) had put a decimal  
point in the wrong place and the small error had bred further errors  
of increasing magnitude, that in turn generated a multitude of  
corrections and cross-checks until the problem could be traced back  
to its source.

He was still angry with himself, but the feeling was complicated  
by being annoyed with Van. Hed been feeling so sorry for him,  
and then he went and did something like that he knew that it  
was irrational to be so upset, but there was something so  
 _wanton_ about it. His resolutions to be extra nice to his  
brother were spoiled; the most he had been able to muster for the  
rest of the lunch hour had been cool civility. _A time and a place.  
At least I keep my dirty little secrets separate from my life with  
you, or try to when you dont butt in - and quite frankly, you  
provoked Dilandau. I dont know if I feel so sorry for you after  
all. Itd be different if hed done anything serious to  
you, but it looks as if you were fully capable of showing him the  
door when he went too far._

Realising that he was not concentrating on his work, and  
furthermore that his thoughts were becoming somewhat erratic, he made  
a conscious effort to calm down, closing his eyes for a moment and  
taking a deep breath which he held for a few seconds before releasing  
it. The clock made that peculiar loud tick that it always gave as the  
minute hand reached the twelve and started a new hour. That reminded  
him that Chesta would probably turn up before too long.

Chesta. He had been thinking on and off all day about what it  
would mean to give him up. He could not justify it to himself on the  
grounds that it would be for Chestas own good; he had begged so  
hard not to be dumped that it was clear ending the  
relationship would simply be cruel. The real justification, he  
realised, was to protect himself from temptation, from further  
wrongdoing, but the fear he felt of that was outweighed by the cold,  
crushing fear of how miserable he would be with no Chesta. Every time  
he tried to imagine a return to chaste nights alone, he would  
remember how sweetly Chesta kissed him, how adorable he was with his  
little gestures and odd off-colour jokes and wholehearted devotion,  
what heaven it was to lie in his arms, to feel his slender young body  
beneath him, his arms wrapped round his shoulders, fingertips  
caressing his back, his legs spread to cradle his lovers body,  
that special little way Chesta had of stroking the soft soles of his  
feet up and down the backs of Folkens legs, making him feel  
petted and loved all over every instinct in him rebelled  
against giving that up.

 _Hes my precious one. Hes right; we cant  
change how we feel. I just have to do all I can to be good to him,  
not to let him down._

The door slid open and Chesta slipped in, the only person now who  
would dare to do that without knocking.

Hello - oh no. He caught sight of the stacks of  
folders surrounding Folken and his shoulders slumped. Please  
tell me most of that is your out pile.

I wanted to have it done before I saw you, but Im  
afraid it was beyond my abilities, Folken said, smiling  
ruefully as he turned in his chair. Im on the homeward  
stretch, but it will be just a little longer.

Oh, I didnt mean to complain, Chesta said  
hastily. After all, I know its important.

Are you - are you feeling all right? The pain in  
Folkens stomach rose again.

Im absolutely fine, Folken-sama. Im a fast  
healer. Dont worry about it.

I - I wont - well, I want to give you time to heal  
completely, so

I understand. But - we _will_ sleep together,  
wont we? And you will make love to me, other ways? His  
eyes were pleading.

Of course I will. You know I will.

I love you, Chesta said, dotting a kiss against his  
cheekbone. An awful lot.

Dont distract me, now.

Of course not. Chesta almost jumped away. Being  
good now! Behaving myself. He gave an awkward little grin and  
backed off. Ill read a book. I might even go wild and  
read an _improving_ book. Something educational. He went  
over to the bookshelf to the left of the desk and began tracing a  
finger over the spines of the books, reading their titles. After a  
moment he chose one and sat down with it on the couch. Folken turned  
back to his work.

Chesta did not read for long before setting down the heavy volume.  
Um, he said, I think thats a little  
 _too_ intellectual for me. He got up and wandered around  
the room, the sound of his footsteps mildly distracting to Folken. He  
could not seem to settle to anything, but dithered from place to  
place, picking things up and putting them down.

Folken heard a creaking and rustling and turned to see Chesta  
trying on his cloak, a little fair head sticking out from the broad  
black collar, the rest of him lost in its voluminous folds.

You look ridiculous, you know, he said with a  
smile.

Sorry, said Chesta, blushing.

Youre a real little fidget tonight.

Im sorry.

Its all right. Hang it up again, would you?

Right. Sorry! He hastily took off the cloak and  
returned it to its hook. More padding around. Folken frowned at the  
graph he was reading, trying to focus on what it meant.

I like this picture, Chesta said, behind him. Looking  
round, Folken found him admiring the small framed painting that hung  
on the wall behind the dining table.

I mean, I like the _colours_ , but Im not sure I  
understand it. Is it one of those modern abstracts?

No, said Folken, resigning himself to getting no  
further work done and setting down his pen. Its actually  
a portrait.

It doesnt look like anyone I know.

Its someone you know quite well. Try looking at it  
upside down.

Chesta shot Folken an odd look over his shoulder, then bent over  
sideways, turning his head upside down like a parakeet. After a  
moment he gasped. Its you! It _is_ a bit abstract  
and arty, but theres your nose, theres the way you used  
to do your hair, theres your teardrop - somehow it looks just  
like you. He straightened up, gazing at Folken in puzzlement.

Why do you hang it upside down?

Its the right way up, Folken said.  
Thats the way the artist painted it.

Mental artist, Chesta commented.

No - thats just the style of cat art. Theorists call  
it Invertism. The representation of objects and people in ones  
surroundings in inverted form. It seems to be a way of coming to  
terms with the unfamiliar, and in some cases of making a statement of  
ownership or personal connection. Nariya did that for me when she was  
just a little girl.

Nariya and Eriya Nariya? Chesta asked. Folken had told  
him a little about the twins, explaining the faint white scars of two  
little sets of sharp teeth on his good arm.

The same. Its really a great compliment to me; the  
first sign I had that they were accepting me as someone who cared for  
them. It came after months of coldness. The poor little things had  
been too traumatised by the death of their parents, and the abuse of  
the people who had pursued them, to trust anyone, even someone who  
was obviously trying to help. They couldnt let their guard  
down.

I tried so hard to be a friend to them, but they  
wouldnt even speak to me, or look directly at me. I set up a  
comfortable playroom for them, with beds and toys, and tried to coax  
them into little games - and always ended up feeling a complete fool  
as they looked through me or walked away. When I brought them food,  
they wouldnt touch it until I had left the room; I only knew  
they were eating because the plates would be clean later.

Sometimes I would come into the room and find them sitting  
very still, very nonchalant, but a ball would be rolling into the  
corner, or their trapeze would be swinging, and Id know that  
they had been playing just a moment before. It was good to know that  
at least they _did_ play. I was afraid their childhood had been  
destroyed.

Then, one day, for no apparent reason, Nariya came up to me  
with a piece of paper, and said "This is from Beruberu and me, to say  
thank you for all the nice things." Until then, I hadnt even  
known their names; of course they hadnt told me. Id been  
calling them Nariya and Eriya because it was that or Hey You. I asked  
them if they would like me to use their original names, but they said  
they wanted to be Nariya and Eriya now. By painting my image, she was  
saying that I belonged to them, or they belonged to me - that we  
belonged together, at any rate. I was so touched that I almost cried.  
They were different from that day on; sweet and affectionate and  
obedient. It was as if they had simply decided to open a door. I  
treasure that picture. Its the second most precious thing in  
this room.

Really? Whats the first? Chesta looked around as  
if expecting to see a diamond or a golden statue.

You, little mushroom-head.

Dont call me that, said Chesta, looking pleased  
and peeved at the same time.

You are a mushroom-head, not to see it. Youre the most  
beautiful thing thats ever belonged to me. Come here and kiss  
me. He held out his arms and Chesta climbed eagerly into his  
lap, pressing warmly against him. There was something almost too  
urgent in his kisses. He pulled away suddenly, looking guilty.

I shouldnt be distracting you, he said.

Youve got so much to do.

I dont mind taking a little break for you,  
Folken murmured, stroking his hair. I could take quite a long  
break. I think youre well worth it.

Folken-sama theres something Ive got to  
tell you.

What is it?

I dont _want_ to tell you because I think  
youll be mad, but I _do_ want to tell you because I want  
to get it off my chest.

Whats the matter? Have you murdered Emperor Dornkirk  
and no-one knows yet?

I-its not funny, Folken-sama. He slipped down  
from Folkens lap and took a step back, wringing his hands  
together nervously.

Is this why youre so twitchy tonight? Youd  
better tell me. I promise Ill stay calm. Ive never blown  
up when youve confessed things to me before.

I - I know. Chesta pushed a hand through his hair,  
making his blond bangs stick up in spikes. Well - its to  
do with Dilandau-sama.

Oh, joy. I _always_ enjoy hearing things about  
Dilandau. _Who had better keep his goddamn hands off my  
brother if he knows whats good for him._

Chestas eyes flicked up to Folkens face, then away  
again; he could not hold his gaze steady. He was in a funny  
sort of mood today.

Isnt he always?

Well, in the morning he was very quiet and seemed unhappy,  
and then he went away by himself at lunchtime, and he seemed to have  
cheered right up afterwards.

Why does that make you so anxious?

Well. Well, when he came back, he said wed all been  
slacking off and we were going to really sweat this afternoon, and he  
made us all work with the weights, and walked up and down watching  
us. Chesta shifted position, standing like a stork with one  
foot against his other knee. Folken wanted to tell him to put both  
feet on the ground like a normal human being, but suppressed the  
impatience; it was important to take Chestas feelings  
seriously.

And when the period was nearly over, like nearly time to go  
and shower before study period but not quite, he asked me to come  
over with him while the others kept going, and he led me out through  
the lockers and into the dorm. And he was in a really funny mood,  
sort of his eyes were all bright, and he seemed quivery?  
I dont know. He told me to sit down on the bed - his bed. I  
mean, _no-one_ sits on Dilandau-samas bed. And I was  
wondering what was going on, and if he was going to tell me my uncle  
had died or something. And he sat down beside me and told me to take  
off my jacket, and he watched me while I did, and then he said to  
take off my shirt. And I did, and he was kind of smiling at me, and I  
was really confused, and he he kissed me. Chestas  
voice died almost to a murmur as he made the confession.

He kissed you, Folken repeated, nonplussed.

He kept kissing me, and put his arms round me and pushed me  
down on the bed and got on top, and told me not to say anything, and  
just kept going, feeling my body, and - um anyway, after a bit  
he stopped and said "This isnt going to work," and he thought  
for a bit and then he rolled off me and said "Get on top of me and  
kiss me," and I didnt, I didnt really know what to do,  
but I couldnt say no, and I did, and he said "Be rough with  
me," and I was doing my best, but thats not really what  
Im good at, and I could feel him getting impatient, and in the  
end he pushed me off and said "This is no good. Go on and shower off,  
and if you tell anyone about this Ill kill you three ways  
before you hit the ground". Chesta looked up from his nervously  
twining fingers, trying to see Folkens reaction. He  
couldnt read anything in his immobile face, but the knuckles of  
his good hand were white where they gripped the chair arm, and there  
was a creaking sound coming from the arm held by his clawed hand.

You couldnt say no, eh?

Not to _Dilandau-sama_ , Chesta said helplessly.  
Folken rose from his chair with a movement so swift and impetuous  
that it frightened Chesta; then he stood motionless, looking down at  
the boy.

Did you like it, Chesta? Did you like having his filthy  
mouth on yours and his hands groping you? Wasnt that what you  
always wanted? His voice sounded odd in his own ears, thin and  
flat.

Folken-sama no

A step closer; now Folken towered over him, his face dark with  
jealous anger.

Tell me the truth. Tell me how much you liked it.

Th-thats _not_ the truth. I felt really  
uncomfortable, all I could think of was you, I dont know why he  
would _do_ something like that!

Dont you? Do you think thats a good story to  
tell me? I mean, I know what a cute little thing you can be when you  
feel like it. Ive had your come-hither looks.

I _didnt!_ I _couldnt_ look like that  
at anyone but you, Id feel too shy and silly! I only feel like  
that with _you._ Chesta was almost crying now.  
Folkens steel hand struck out and clenched in his hair, pulling  
his head back; he bent and kissed him roughly, thrusting his tongue  
deep into the boys mouth. Chesta yielded instantly, moaning  
feebly in his throat.

I should wash your mouth out with soap, Folken said,  
breaking away. I could taste him in there.

I Im sorry, Folken-sama

You see, this is why I dont _lend_ you to other  
people. Theyll just get you dirty. He knew he was  
speaking cruelly, savagely; he told himself that he couldnt  
help it. Chestas lips were trembling and his eyes brimmed with  
tears; in the midst of his fury Folken was aroused beyond  
measure.

Get into the bathroom. I have to get you clean. With a  
firm hand on the back of Chestas neck, he almost frogmarched  
him there. His dressing-gown and shorts were thrown to the floor; he  
seized Chesta again and kissed him hard, his steel hand gripping and  
twisting the back of his nightshirt. On an impulse, he wrenched  
downward, ripping the thin cotton; Chesta gave a panicky gasp as the  
rags of his clothing fell around his ankles.

Are you mine?

I - Im yours

Act like it. Get into the shower. Under the hot spray  
of water, he scrubbed Chesta all over with soap, ignoring how he  
winced as suds ran into his eyes. With a soapy hand, he grabbed the  
boys half-erect penis and jerked it sharply.

You like this too, dont you?

I y-yes, Folken-sama

Someone to be rough with you, to slap you around and tell  
you what to do. I suppose I dont satisfy you that way very  
often, do I Chesta? You have to go somewhere else for that.

N-no Chesta was trying to wipe away the tears  
streaming down his face, mixing with the water of the shower.

P-please I only want you

Shut up, Folken muttered. He dropped to his knees and  
took a new grip on Chestas cock, pulling it into his mouth and  
sucking hard. Chesta cried out, slamming a hand against the wall to  
steady himself. Squeezing the base, Folken drew his head back,  
scraping his teeth along the tender skin, making Chesta wail aloud.  
Another burst of deep, strong suction, and he jerked away, rising to  
his feet and taking Chesta by the shoulders.

Turn round. Obeying instinctively, Chesta braced  
himself against the wall. Now take this. And I dont want  
to hear a sound out of you. Without preamble, he rammed himself  
into the torn passage. Chesta grunted, and his whole body jerked.

Not a sound, Folken said, drawing back and thrusting  
in again.

Nngh

Not a _sound_.

Folken-sama, please! Be gentle!

But you like it _rough_. He slammed himself in  
again. A trickle of blood ran down his leg; he felt its heat above  
the warmth of the water. It stopped him cold. He leaned for a moment,  
gasping, with his hand against the wall of the shower recess. A fist  
of nausea punched up in his stomach and he gagged.

F-folken-sama? Chesta murmured. Are you all  
right?

Oh God He eased hiimself out of Chestas  
body; his erection had collapsed totally. Blood dripped on the tiles  
and swirled away down the drain, diluted to rusty orange. The water  
was rinsing him clean but the blood flowed from Chestas rear;  
nothing could stop it.

God He sank to the floor, shivering, arms  
clasped across his chest. The claws of his steel hand bit into the  
flesh of his good arm, meeting on bone. Five more threads of blood  
wormed their way over his skin and mixed with the water.

Folken-sama! Chesta cried in alarm. Please -  
dont hurt yourself!

But Ive hurt _you_ , Folken whispered.

How could I hurt you? How could I do it again?

Its - its okay, Chesta protested, half  
turning and holding out his hand.

Damn it, Chesta, it is _not_ okay! The bloodied  
steel fist hit the wall, cracking the slate tiles in a spiderweb.  
Chesta cringed, flattening himself against the opposite side of the  
recess.

I - I mean I forgive you, he whispered. Please,  
I forgive you.

What kind of demon _am_ I? Folken asked.  
How can I abuse you this way? I love you!

Well - well, you were angry, Chesta stammered.

People do things they dont mean when theyre  
angry.

What right did I have to be angry? It wasnt your  
fault. I was just - just so _jealous_ 

Well, then

That is not an _excuse!_

The water pattered down on them uninterrupted for a moment.

Folken-sama, Chesta said carefully, if  
youre not angry with me any more, please dont  
shout.

Im sorry. Folken covered his head with his  
arms.

Is it all right if I go and get some - some toilet paper or  
something? Receiving a silent nod, he edged out of the shower  
stall and unrolled a length of tissue, noticing with an odd clarity  
how his shaking fingers blotted it with water. He scrunched it into a  
soft wad and pressed it between his buttocks, wincing. He was  
dripping water all over the bathroom floor; he hoped it wouldnt  
matter this once.

Folken levered himself to his feet and emerged from the shower,  
approaching him hesitantly.

Are you - I mean, how do you feel? he asked.  
Does it feel as if anythings torn inside you?

No, Chesta said, shaking his head reassuringly.

Its just the rim. You stretched it a bit too hard.  
Knocked the scab off, I guess. Isnt that a yukky thought? A  
scab up someones bum? He laughed weakly.

Chesta, Im so sorry.

Youre bleeding on the floor, Chesta reminded  
him.

Folken looked vaguely at the punctures in his arm, as if he had  
forgotten them and was surprised to find them still there.

You should put a bandage on them, Chesta prompted  
him.

Do I deserve one?

Folken-sama, dont be _weird_. Put a bandage on  
your arm. The wad of toilet paper was about soaked through with  
blood now, but the flow seemed to be slowing. He unrolled more paper  
and put a fresh pad in place. Once that was done, he felt weak and  
tired. Wet as he was, he stumbled out of the bathroom and crept onto  
the bed, lying down on his stomach, carefully holding the toilet  
paper in place. He closed his eyes, and after a moment hot tears  
leaked out. He could hear Folken moving around slowly in the  
bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet. After a time he heard him  
crying. He thought sleepily that he ought to go to him, but he was  
really very tired.

 

He woke, by habit, before dawn. While he slept, Folken had covered  
him with a blanket and put a towel under his wet head. He was alone  
in the bed. Moving carefully, but finding he was not as sore as he  
had feared, he swung his legs over the side and stood up, then went  
to the bathroom. Folken was not there. The floor had been cleaned;  
there was no sign of blood. He emptied his bladder, wondering what it  
would be like when he had to move his bowels. That had been painful  
enough yesterday. He flushed the bloody pad of paper down the toilet;  
the stains on it were dry and brown. The bleeding seemed to have  
stopped.

Washing his hands after flushing the toilet, he looked at himself  
in the mirror, took in the dark shadows under his puffy, pink-rimmed  
eyes. _Last night I had a big fight with my boyfriend. Who may not  
be my boyfriend any more. Maybe everythings ruined now._ He  
splashed cool water on his face, hoping that would make it less  
blotchy. Wrapping a towel around his body, he went out through the  
bedroom and into the front room.

Folken was asleep on the couch, wearing his dressing-gown, the  
silk stained with water and blood. The left sleeve had slipped down  
over his shoulder and Chesta could see a neat white bandage with dots  
of red soaking through. Folkens eyelids were also inflamed and  
swollen. Before falling asleep he had folded up Chestas torn  
nightshirt and placed it on the seat of the chair. When Chesta picked  
it up, he discovered that it had been neatly mended, with tiny,  
almost invisible stitches. You couldnt even see the rip unless  
you looked hard for it. He hung the towel over the back of the chair  
and slipped the nightshirt back on. Then, rather gingerly, he sat  
down on the chair, relaxed as the momentary discomfort subsided, and  
waited for Folken to wake up.

After some time, Folkens eyes opened; he looked at Chesta as  
if trying to remember who he was, then closed them again with a look  
of pain.

Good morning, Chesta whispered. Were awake  
in plenty of time.

Good morning, Folken replied hoarsely.

Thank you for mending my nightshirt, Chesta said,  
after a moment. The stitches are really little. It doesnt  
even show.

Theyre sutures, Folken said. Both were silent  
for a while.

I dont know what to say to you, Folken said.

Only that Im terribly sorry, with all my heart.

I said I forgive you.

Another long pause. Against his will, Chestas eyes began to  
fill with tears; he sniffed and blinked fiercely, trying to force  
them back, but it was no good.

Is - is it over between us?

Chesta I dont see how we can go  
on

I wish Id never let him kiss me! You might still love  
me then. He pressed the heels of his hands into his  
eye-sockets, making himself see painful patterns of black light. He  
felt Folkens arms around his huddled shoulders, gentle,  
cautious.

I do still love you. But surely you cant love  
me.

Well, I do.

Chesta

Shut up! I can't help it if I do! I - I wont  
 _let_ you dump me! Ill tell everyone about you!  
Sobbing, he fell against Folkens shoulder, hitting him weakly  
with a bunched-up fist as he did.

Im not dumping you, Folken said, his voice  
trembling. You ought to dump _me_.

No. He tightened his arms fiercely around  
Folkens body, clinging to him. I wont let  
go.

Well, said Folken, and now it sounded as if he were  
crying a little, if you wont let go of me and I  
wont let go of _you_  I suppose we have to stay  
together for the time being.

Chesta sniffed again and rubbed his cheek on Folkens silk  
shoulder. Spose we do.


	18. Chapter 18

Dilandau woke in an ill temper. He was still frustrated and out of  
sorts after the failure following yesterdays victory. Chesta  
had seemed so confused and shy throughout that he wasnt sure he  
had realised it was a question of impotence. That was something. And  
there was no way Chesta would talk about it to anyone else.

The fact was, he, Dilandau, wasnt enough any more, not  
alone. He needed the feeling, at least the fantasy, of someone else  
in order to become aroused. The dressing-gown had been Vans  
property, smelled like Van. He had been in his room. Van had watched  
him while he worked his way up to ecstasy. He had hoped it was just  
being with someone else that had got him going, but the experiment  
with Chesta had proved otherwise. Hed really enjoyed the  
 _idea_ of it, up until the idea became reality and he realised  
he was stuck with a nervous, childish boy who didnt know how to  
kiss him in the way he needed and kept giving the unflattering  
impression that he would rather not have been there at all. Hed  
been entirely co-operative, but somehow Dilandau had been sure  
hed be thrilled to be chosen this way, and he so clearly was  
not.

That had felt a little bit insulting. _Maybe hes just too  
straight to appreciate a guy like me. Van, on the other hand I  
saw him, felt his eyes on me. He wants me as much as I want him.  
Which puts me in the really shitty position of wanting to deny him,  
so hell suffer, but that means Ill suffer too._

He was displeased with everyone he saw that morning, not least  
Chesta, who looked as if he had been on a crying jag and was moving  
slowly and sluggishly.

Dalet noticed too, and tried to talk to him privately as they made  
their way to the dining hall for breakfast.

Rough night, said Chesta, shaking his head.

Thats all.

You look like hell, Dalet said frankly. I think  
hes being too hard on you.

No hes hes sorry Chesta  
said vaguely.

What do you mean?

I mean I dont know dont worry about  
it.

Look Chess youre my friend. And I keep  
feeling like there are problems youre not telling me about. It  
makes me feel rotten to think youre worrying about stuff and I  
cant help you.

But I _cant_ tell you those things.

What happened with Dilandau-sama?

Chesta looked around nervously, but they were walking apart from  
the others and no-one seemed to be paying attention to them.  
Im - Im not supposed to tell anyone that  
either.

Is he in on it too?

No! No, he doesnt know anything.

What did he want you for, then?

I - Im not sure he seemed to change his  
mind

Chess! Stop beating around the bush.

Im - Im not sure how youll react if I tell  
you. And I dont like upsetting people, and Im really  
tired, and cant we just

Please. I promise I wont tell anyone. But if its  
got anything to do with how upset you look today

In a very small voice, Chesta asked, Would you think I was  
really disgusting if I told you Id let a guy kiss me?

Dalet stopped walking and stared at him open-mouthed.

Because thats what Dilandau-sama wanted. He wanted to  
kiss. Okay? I think the idea was for us to make out a little, but I  
think he got disappointed or something and it didnt turn out.  
And like an idiot I let him because I didnt know how to say  
no.

 __ _Seriously?_  
Dalet hissed. I mean - no, no I dont think youre  
disgusting. Its not like it was your idea.

I shouldve said no, Chesta said, his voice  
trembling. It was such a big mistake. I was just trying to be -  
I dont know, to be _good._ He looked ready to cry  
again.

Oh, Chess - look, cmere. Rather awkwardly, Dalet  
put his arms round him and patted his back. Their shoulder armour got  
in the way, but the kindness of the gesture still moved Chestas  
heart and made him lean against his friend, trusting in his  
support.

Its going to be all right, Dalet murmured.  
You just stick close to me. If he calls you, Ill go too.  
If he doesnt like it, stuff him. I wont let him do  
anything to you you dont want.

Wh-whyre you so nice to me?

Cause I like you, dummy. I know youre a nice  
person.

Maybe maybe you shouldnt. I mean I  
dont want you to get into any trouble. Im not worth  
it.

Oh, bullshit. Besides, I bet if I let anything happen to  
you, Folken-samall want my guts for garters. Whereas if I take  
good care of you he might give me a medal. Its all in my  
interest. Hey? He smiled, encouraging Chesta to smile back  
through his tears. Now cheer up, mushroom head. Itll be  
okay.

They were alone in the corridor now; the others footsteps  
had receded into the distance, except for one set running back. Gatti  
popped his head round the corner and goggled at the two of them  
hugging.

Ew, you _fags!_

Oh, piss off, said Dalet  
easily, releasing Chesta. Chess isnt feeling well. You  
know how he gets. Im just being Mother Dalet for a  
while.

Kidding, said Gatti, grinning cheekily. Hurry  
up! Dilandaus gonna notice youre missing. He  
hurried off again.

Will you be okay now? Dalet asked Chesta.

Yes, said Chesta, wiping his eyes. I feel a lot  
better just because I talked to you.

Even secret agents need a shoulder to cry on  
sometimes, said Dalet, grinning. Now lets go before  
Gatti tells everyone youre my girlfriend. He grabbed  
Chestas arm and towed him along.

 

Van did not have much appetite for lunch. He had spent the morning  
secretly flying, which usually made him hungry as a hunter, but there  
was so much angry acid sloshing around in his stomach that food did  
not hold much appeal. Dilandau was in his minds eye all the  
time, naked and beautiful, teasing him, laughing at him, hiding from  
him amid folds of black silk.

 _Maybe I shouldnt have gotten mad at him. Maybe then he  
wouldve let me - but no, God no, then we probably wouldve  
been in bed together when Folken came in. And so Folken thinks  
Im a compulsive wanker who squirts himself in the face. Just  
brilliant. You bastard, Dilandau - no, you _bitch. _Wait till I  
get my hands on you._

He looked up from his cooling soup to see that Folken was not  
eating much either.

What are you looking so gloomy about? he asked.  
Without meaning to, he made it sound grumpy and accusing. Folken put  
down his spoon and gave him an unloving look.

I mean, whats wrong, brother?

Folken sighed and rubbed a hand across his forehead wearily.  
I cant really talk about it with you, Im afraid.  
Its personal.

Says Mr I Dont Have Time For Women, said Van,  
bristling up a little. He was unconsciously on the defensive  
today.

It can be personal without being about a woman.

Oh, a man then.

Van! Why do you have to assume its some sort of  
affair? I happen to have a very busy and full life outside of you,  
and it doesnt always run smoothly! You might try to be a little  
sympathetic instead of giving me those sulky looks. He stopped  
and put his hand over his eyes, breathing out slowly. Im  
sorry. Sorry, Van. I should really be apologising to you for  
yesterday as well. This personal matter, which Ill admit is  
causing me a good deal of difficulty, has been making me very tense  
and its been colouring my mood overall. I spoke to you more  
harshly than I should have, and I wasnt patient enough. I  
understand how it can be at your age, how strong your impulses can  
be. And really I ought to appreciate the fact that you went back to  
your own place instead of using my bathroom. You were actually being  
quite discreet. So yes. Im sorry.

Thank you, said Van, a little surprised. Can  
I I mean, can I do anything to help?

Just go on being my good, dutiful little brother,  
Folken said with a small smile. I know I can count on  
you. He paused. How are things between you and  
Dilandau?

What do you mean?

Well, whats the situation? Open hostilities? Sweetness  
and light? Something in between? I know hes been a problem for  
you and I was wondering how youre getting on.

Its fine, said Van firmly, hoping he sounded  
unconcerned. Im fine. He doesnt bother  
me.

I do hope that if there were anything wrong, you would tell  
me.

You shouldnt have to worry about me, Van said, a  
little embarrassed.

I always will, though. Its part of how I love  
you.

Well then, Im glad you worry about me, Van said,  
trying to smile.

 

 _Part of how I love you_ , Folken thought after Van had gone.  
 _Just a part. And the way I love people is not entirely benign, I  
know. Thats why I was afraid. I knew that at the back of my  
mind before I was fully aware of it._

He touched the top of his arm, feeling the ache of the  
self-inflicted wounds under the bandage. They seemed to take a little  
of the guilt outside his body. Maybe as they healed, it would get  
easier to bear. _Why did I turn on Chesta that way? Looking at it  
calmly, its so obvious. Being pathetically insecure about my  
own merits, I was all too ready to believe that he loved someone  
else, despite all the times hes told me, shown me and proved to  
me that hes all mine. I was weak and stupid, and in my own  
selfish and imperfect love, I didnt trust him enough to believe  
he loved me any better than I did him. I could have lost that  
forever._

He pressed a little on the bandage, imagining the red coming  
through its whiteness. _So what are you going to do, Strategos?  
Its simple. Youre going to repent, and reform, and treat  
that boy like your golden god for the rest of your life. Nothing else  
matters. Well, check that - Van matters, and so do Nariya and Eriya.  
Thats part of how I love them too. But besides that  
nothing else. Nothing Im doing has any meaning except so far as  
it may benefit these precious ones of mine, and Chesta above all. I  
never saw it quite that way before, in its absoluteness. I cant  
delude myself that Im doing it for the world any longer.  
Perhaps I once was, and perhaps Dornkirk-sama still is, but for now I  
just have to follow my heart or Ill be living even more of a  
lie. And, Strategos - _he tightened his grip, inhaling sharply at  
the pain - _if you ever raise a hand to Chesta again, Ill cut  
off your other arm._

A light knock at the door, and there was Chesta. Folken rose to  
his feet eagerly. He had been sitting waiting; the paperwork could  
keep. They both hesitated, Chesta on the threshold, Folken by the  
couch.

I was afraid you wouldnt come tonight.

Well I did Chesta shifted his footing a  
little uncertainly. He was wearing pale blue pajamas, slightly too  
big for him.

What happened to your nightshirt?

I was afraid someone would notice the mend, so I got  
something different. The Q stores only had pajamas, though, and only  
this size. I have to roll up the sleeves and the legs. He  
raised his hands with a little smile.

They suit you, though. The colour, I mean. And you look  
sweet in clothes that are too big for you. Remember when you slept in  
one of my shirts? _Im trying too hard, Im trying  
too hard, I feel like a fool._

I remember, said Chesta.  
That was a really nice night.

I hope well have a lot more of those.

So do I. Still, they couldnt quite cross the  
floor, close the gap. Chesta put his hands behind his back and looked  
around the room. His eyebrows went up as he saw the table.

Whats that?

Its - its a late supper for us. I wanted to give  
you a treat.

Candles? Chesta approached the table slowly, looking  
somehow puzzled.

Mostly desserty things, Folken said, feeling that he  
ought to be explaining. I hope theres something you  
like.

You got _ice-cream_ , Chesta said, sounding a  
little awed as he looked at the silver dish in a nest of ice.

Pink _and_ white.

It all feels so clumsy now, Folken admitted. I  
dont mean I think this makes anything better. Think of it -  
think of it as a token of good faith. I want to treat you properly  
from now on.

Chesta turned and looked at him, considering, a dark figure  
against the glow of the candles that were the only light in the room.  
Ive been thinking a lot today about what happened last  
night, he said.

Chesta, said Folken urgently, crossing the room and  
taking hold of his hands, I swear to you that will never happen  
again. I swear by everything Ive ever cared about.

Well thats good, said Chesta,  
because I realised that if it ever did even though  
Id find it really hard Id have to leave you. I  
begged you not to dump me, but when I think about it, I wouldnt  
want to be with you if it was only going to be like that. So Im  
just telling you that. This is the only warning Ill give. I  
want to believe in you, and give you another chance, but it can only  
be one more chance, because I dont want to have to keep feeling  
like I did last night. I think I _can_ believe in you,  
Folken-sama.

I promise, Folken said. He pressed Chestas hands  
to his lips. I promise. I swear by my fathers memory. I  
swear by my brothers life. Anything, _anything_ I can do  
for you, or give you, to show you that I mean it

The ice-cream will be enough for now, Chesta said,  
smiling. He freed his hands and reached up to put his arms around  
Folkens neck. And maybe a kiss.

Folken kissed him very gently and reverently, almost fearfully,  
and Chesta had to encourage him to be bolder. It was just beginning  
to feel natural again when there was another tap at the door.

If thats Van-sama, lets flush his head in the  
toilet, Chesta whispered.

Dont be naughty. Youll have to hide,  
Folken was whispering back, when the door slid open and a figure  
stepped straight through. They sprang apart, Chesta with his hand on  
his heart, which was making a spirited attempt to escape through his  
mouth.

Dalet stood there in his rumpled shorts and undershirt, blinking  
at them in the low light.

Um - Chesta? he said hesitantly.  
Folken-sama?

 __ _Dalet!_ Chesta  
exclaimed. What are you _doing_ here?

I - I followed you, Dalet said, sounding  
uncharacteristically unsure of himself. Because - because I  
wanted to say He pulled himself together and stood to  
attention. Whatever the two of you are doing, I want to be a  
part of it.

Folken thought he felt a few small parts of his brain fuse  
together. For just a moment he had a mental image of what that might  
be like, both boys lithe bodies twining around his, before a  
great tidal wave of shock, embarrassment and shame washed it  
away.

Chesta put his hands over his mouth; he thought something really  
might come out, although not his heart.

Because Folken-sama, Dalet was saying eagerly,  
if I were on the job too, Chesta wouldnt have to work so  
hard, would he? Hes getting really tired and run down, but I  
know you cant do without him, its very important, but I  
thought if I volunteered it could make things easier for everyone. I  
bet I can do everything he does. And I can learn really quickly if I  
cant.

I - I _beg_ your pardon? Folken said. He  
wasnt even sure who he was talking to. His whole mind was  
hissing with panic.

You dont have to pretend, Dalet said. I  
know all about it. I mean, I know Chess wasnt supposed to tell  
anyone but Ive been silent as the dead, and I think what  
youre doings wonderful, I mean, the things you  
 _think_ of, youre amazing, and Ive been so worried  
about him, and Im really gabbling arent I? But I mean it.  
And Im so excited about this.

Th-this? Folken croaked.

All this secret agent stuff, said Dalet. The  
missions Chesta runs for you.

Folken blinked at him, hoping that someone, sometime soon, would  
say something that began to make sense. Next to him, he heard a deep,  
shaky breath from Chesta, the sound of someone trying not to cry.

Dalet, said Chesta, Ive lied to you.  
Im so, so sorry. Folken-sama - Im sorry! He turned  
and ran through to the bedroom; they heard the bathroom door  
slam.

Wh-what was that about? Dalet said, bewildered, and  
looking a little unnerved at being left alone with the Strategos.

I - I dont know, Folken said. Let me be  
sure I understand what youve said. Did Chesta tell you he was  
working as a secret agent for me?

Yes, Dalet said, nodding obediently. Every  
night. And he wouldnt have told me anything except that I  
caught him coming back one morning when I couldnt sleep and  
wouldnt leave him alone until he spilled the beans. So please  
dont punish him for that, Folken-sama.

A secret agent? Folken repeated numbly. Dalet was  
looking confused; he had just noticed the candlelit table spread with  
delicate food.

Um, are you, um, _entertaining?_ he said  
dubiously. I can - I can go, Folken-sama, if if  
whats going on?

Chestas not a secret agent, Folken said.  
Unless its a secret from me too. Moving quickly, he  
slipped behind Dalet and locked the door, then turned back to face  
the boy who was now eyeing him with considerable trepidation.

Understand this, Folken told him. You will never  
repeat what Im about to tell you to _anyone_ without my  
permission. In your _life_. Do you agree?

Y-yes, Dalet said, adding Folken-sama as  
an afterthought.

Right, said Folken, letting out a long breath.  
In point of fact Chesta and I are in love.

Dalet blinked. Then blinked again. His face could not seem to lose  
its blank expression.

P-pardon? he said.

We are in love, and he comes to this room every night to -  
to spend time with me, Folken explained.

The - the whole time that he was a secret agent for - back  
to when he went to talk to you about Dilandau-sama?

Yes.

Shit! Dalet clapped a hand over his mouth and looked  
shocked at himself. Sorry, Folken-sama! Its just - my  
God!

He never told me that youd been interrogating  
him.

I - its not like I _bullied_ him - I - I was just  
having fun at first but I got fond of him you know  
Chesta what am I saying, you _know_ Chesta and I was  
worried about him I swear thats the only reason why I  
came.

Ill want to ask Chesta about that, Folken  
replied, folding his arms.

Oh, _God!_ I mean - heaps of the things he said,  
theyre starting to make sense in a whole other way. Dalet  
shook his head in lingering disbelief. Hes even sneakier  
than I thought.

Still want to be part of it?

Dalet turned red from neck to hairline. No sir! I  
didnt know when I said that!

All right. Just so long as weve got that cleared up. I  
was hoping that would be the case. I didnt particularly like  
the idea of Chesta inviting people to join us. He paced over to  
the table. The ice-cream is going to melt.

Is is Chesta going to be in trouble? I never wanted to  
get him in any trouble. Please, Folken-sama, I was just trying to  
help him.

Chestas not in trouble, Folken said softly,  
although I dont think he believes that. You see, we had a  
very unfortunate time last night, when I thought he had  
betrayed me, and then I did something to very badly upset  
 _him_  and this is supposed to be a make-up treat, if you  
can believe that. I think hes afraid Im going to be angry  
again and the whole can of worms will be re-opened. I cant be  
angry with him for this. He lied so well to protect me that he had  
you completely fooled. Its not his fault you decided to play  
hero.

Dalet swallowed hard, looking ashamed. Maybe I could go and  
talk to him, he suggested. And tell him he doesnt  
need to be scared of you.

I think that would be a good idea, Folken said.  
Its just through there, he said, nodding towards  
the door.

Um okay. Dalet tiptoed through to the darkened  
bedroom. He could see a chink of light under the bathroom door, and  
gently slid it open. Chesta was sitting huddled up against the  
toilet, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He looked up with a gasp when  
he heard Dalet enter.

Its just me, Chess.

Is - is Folken-sama

Dont worry about Folken-sama, Chess. He sent me to  
tell you hes not mad. Everythings okay. Dalet  
squatted down to look Chesta in the eye. Are you all  
right?

Ive been sick, Chesta mumbled. I flushed  
it away, though.

Would you like a drink of water?

s please.

Dalet found a mouthwash glass and filled it at the sink, then  
brought it to Chesta, who was sitting up a little straighter.

Rinse your mouth and spit first, he advised. He sat  
down on the cold tile floor and waited until Chesta could speak  
again.

Whyd you go and tell me such a silly story? he  
asked gently.

B-because I _couldnt_ tell you the truth,

Chesta said, sniffing. I couldnt betray  
Folken-samas trust like that.

He says you guys are in love.

Yes, Chesta said simply.

Wow.

And I c-couldnt tell you because you might c-call me a  
fag and not want to be my friend any more.

Chess, I wouldnt. Honestly, I wouldnt. He  
reached out and patted Chestas foot, which was closest to him.  
Youre my friend no matter what.

Chesta took another sip of water. I didnt mean not to  
trust you. Its just that so many people really hate us or  
they make all kinds of dumb remarks weve got to be so  
careful

I know, said Dalet with a little smile. Hello,  
fellow fag. He raised his hand and gave a little  
fingertip-wave.

Chesta stared at him, his turquoise eyes huge above the rim of the  
glass. Youre joking, he said.

Its funny to find out two other people are on the same  
day, Dalet said. Especially someone like you - but  
its silly to say that, I already knew there was a lot more to  
you than shows on the surface.

Is - is _this_ why you wanted to make friends?  
Chesta asked, blushing.

No! Dalet laughed. I mean, no offence,  
youre very cute, I think Folken-samas lucky, but  
Ive already got someone I like.

A boyfriend?

Sadly, no. Just someone I admire from afar, and dont  
dare tell him how I feel. Just like how you couldnt tell me,  
and I couldnt tell you. You dont need to feel bad about  
that, Chess. We were both keeping something back.

Is it anyone I know?

Um, said Dalet, looking embarrassed. You know,  
Ive never told anyone before. I havent even said it out  
loud. But I guess its fine to tell you. I like Migel  
Labariel.

Migel!

Well, yeah! Whats wrong with that?

Nothing, nothing. Im just surprised.

Whats not to like? I mean, look at him, that hair, and  
those eyes, that mouth, those hands - not to mention a butt that  
could crack walnuts.

Chesta started to giggle. Perhaps thats his party  
trick.

Anyway, you cant criticise _my_ taste, look who  
 _you_ took up with. Now _thats_  
unconventional.

I think hes lovely, said Chesta  
complacently.

But you two you had a fight last night? Or  
something?

Yes, said Chesta, looking downcast again. About  
me kissing Dilandau-sama.

But that wasnt your _fault_.

Folken-sama didnt see it that way at first.

Look, I dont want to pass judgement on your  
relationship, but can I just say that if he requires you to call him  
Folken-sama in bed I think hes a complete tosser?

He doesnt. Hes always trying to get me  
 _not_ to do it and just call him Folken, but I cant always  
remember.

Did he pull the heavy jealous boyfriend number? Dalet  
asked, leaning back against the wall.

A bit, said Chesta, looking down into the mouthwash  
glass.

Did he hurt you?

A long pause.

A bit, said Chesta.

But youre making up?

Hes really sorry.

You cant always trust guys who say theyre really  
sorry. My stepfather was always really sorry. And always did it again  
anyway. Dalet raised one eyebrow sardonically.

I - I know - and if it happens again Ill call it off,  
but this was the first time and I do believe him. I - I dont  
want to give up on him, Dalet, because when its good its  
 _so_ wonderful.

Dalet looked at him a moment, then sighed. Well, Ill  
always be here, okay? We can stick together, like friends are  
supposed to.

Youre _so_ nice to me, Dalet, Chesta said,  
putting down the glass and leaning over to hug him.

Fag, said Dalet gruffly. Youre such a  
girly blouse I should have guessed. He hugged back, and ruffled  
Chestas hair.

And - and Folken-sama says hes not angry? Chesta  
asked, sitting back.

Yeah. And I think he is telling the truth. He just wants you  
to come out and have some ice-cream, apparently.

You see? Hes so sweet. Getting something like that for  
me.

Dont let him buy you with ice-cream, Chess.

Oh, Ill do _anything_ for ice-cream, said  
Chesta, rolling his eyes dramatically and then laughing.

Its so weird to think of you like this. Sneaking off  
every night to see your lover. Are you two - well, are you actually  
sleeping together?

Yes. We have been all the time.

You have to tell me what thats like.

Have you never done it?

Dalet shook his head. Ive kissed my older cousin, and  
we played with each other a little, but then his mother yelled  
upstairs that dinner was ready and we never really picked up on that  
again. And the Dragonslayer years havent exactly been full of  
opportunities for romance. Its so dumb, I share a shower with  
the guy Im in love with and Ive never even touched  
him.

Do you think youre really in love?

Dalet tipped his head back, resting it against the cool wall.  
I dont know. This is what I expect being in love to feel  
like. I just feel right whenever I get to be with him, whenever  
hes talking to me. Theres something about him, a kind of  
feeling of authority and pride, that makes me feel safe with him. And  
hes really smart, which I think is great, and on the surface it  
seems like he never mucks around but hes got this really sly  
waspish sense of humour underneath and hes  
 _courageous._ Not just brave, but courageous, like not many  
people are.

And then theres always the walnut-cracking butt,  
said Chesta matter-of-factly, and they both laughed.

Not to be overlooked!

Oh, God. I wonder how many more of us there are that we  
dont know about. Its starting to feel like the whole ship  
is queer.

The Fighting Fruits of the Vione, said Dalet,  
grinning. Hey, what if thats what the Dragonslayer  
aptitude tests select for! Intelligence, agility, hand-eye  
co-ordination, and homosexual tendencies.

Oh no. No, come on, Dalet.

Im not kidding! Look at Gatti and Biore. If  
theyre not asshole buddies I dont know who is.

Youre being so mean. Chesta put a hand over his  
mouth in an effort to smother his giggles.

And I favour this theory particularly because it gives me  
more of a chance with the lovely Migel.

It explains Dilandau-sama and Van-sama.

Yeah, as soon as Van-sama got the uniform on he suddenly  
noticed all the soldiers had lovely bottoms. They almost  
collapsed together, laughing.

There was a hesitant tap at the closed door and Folkens  
voice asked Are you two all right?

Were fine, Dalet called out, giving a pat to  
Chesta, who looked a little cowed. Are you ready to go out and  
see him? he asked in an undertone.

Yes, said Chesta, and getting to his feet, he opened  
the door. He opened his mouth to speak and Folken popped a spoonful  
of pink ice-cream into it.

I am _not_ angry with you, he said emphatically.  
Chesta bobbed up on tiptoe and kissed him through the melting  
strawberry mouthful. It was such a sweet kiss that they clung  
together for a long moment, until Dalet gave a discreet little cough  
and they broke apart, blushing.

Dont mind me, he said, grinning. Uncle  
Dalet just wants you young people to be happy.

I thought you were Mother Dalet, Chesta said.

Im versatile, Dalet said. Um if my  
work here is done, should I bugger off?

Oh, you dont have to go, Chesta said.

Cant he stay, Folken-sama - I mean Folken? We cant  
eat all those lovely things ourselves and I want to reward him for  
being so nice to me.

Which I only did to get ice-cream, said Dalet, a  
little embarrassed by Chestas fulsome praise.

Hes welcome to stay, said Folken, if he  
would like to. He felt a bit out of his depth, but he was not  
about to say no to Chesta.

It ended up being a rather pleasant, if unusual evening. Perhaps  
foolishly, he allowed both the boys to have as much wine as they  
liked, and Dalet gave him a very earnest tipsy lecture on his  
responsibilities as Chestas lover.

No getting into bed with cold feet. No calling him Baby. And  
you bloody well get him something nice for his birthday, all  
right?

All right, all right. Dont breathe fumes in my face  
any more.

You know, I used to think you were really spooky,  
Dalet declared, but I see youre all right after  
all. He smacked a kiss onto Folkens cheek and went off in  
search of a meringue.

Dont kiss him! Chesta protested, from his seat  
in Folkens lap on the couch. Ive got exclusive  
Folken-kissing privileges.

Yes you have, Folken assured him.

Damn right, said Chesta, giving him a rather wet  
winy smooch.

Chesta, you little ratbag, youve had all the  
meringues, Dalet complained at the table. Chesta stuck out his  
tongue at him, then as long as he had it out, turned to lick  
Folkens earlobe before putting it away.

Do you think you should be doing that while your  
friends here? Folken asked him quietly, a little  
startled.

He doesnt mind.

Well, I feel a bit funny about it.

I _want_ to make you feel a bit funny, Chesta  
replied, smiling and wriggling in his lap.

Stop that! Folken gasped, trying to hold him  
still.

I wish I had, Chesta said, grimacing. Now my  
bottom hurts.

Im so sorry about that.

Its all right. My bottom will forget about it as long  
as youre always extraspecially nice to it in future.

What _are_ you talking about over here? Dalet  
demanded, plunking down beside them with a bowl of chocolate  
mousse.

My bottom, Chesta said promptly.

Ah, the human bottom, Dalet said dreamily.  
Isnt it a wonderful thing. I flatter myself that my own  
bottom isnt half bad. Although my heart belongs to another  
bottom. Do you think thats the origin of the expression "the  
bottom of my heart"?

Oh God, Folken said dryly. Im entertaining  
two drunk fifteen-year-olds in their skivvies. My reputation may  
never recover.

Chesta! You didnt tell me he was funny!

Do you think thats funny? asked Chesta  
dubiously.

Folken pinched him gently. Cheeky. Between the two of you, I  
feel very old.

Well, you _do_ have grey hair, kind of, said  
Dalet, tipping his head back on the back of the couch and looking up  
at him sideways, but youre otherwise quite  
youthful.

And quite useful, Chesta said, playing with the zipper  
on Folkens tunic.

Whats sex like? Dalet asked abruptly.

Dalet! Folken felt obscurely shocked.

Lovely and messy, Chesta said helpfully.

Does it _hurt,_ having something pushed up your  
bum?

Im sure we dont want to talk about that,  
Folken said hurriedly. I think you two are a bit past your  
best.

It only really hurts if its not done properly,  
Chesta told Dalet, or of course if its just too  
 _big_ , I suppose.

I tried to put a peeled carrot up my bum once, said  
Dalet, conversationally, but it was cold and it felt horrible  
and I got nervous and stopped.

Ew! squealed Chesta, and started giggling.

I cant _believe_ you two, said Folken.

Folken feels _much_ nicer than a peeled carrot,

Chesta confided in Dalet.

Chesta, stop it, youre embarrassing me.

You dont need to be embarrassed about that,  
Chesta protested. I think you should be very proud.

I want to find out what Migel Labariel feels like,  
Dalet said, resuming his dreamy tone. Hey, Folken-sama,  
youre in charge of everyone - order Migel to sleep with  
me.

You cant order the Strategos to give orders.

I can ask very sweetly and bat my eyelashes.

Im sorry, Dalet, but your eyelashes have no power over  
me, Folken said briskly. He got to his feet, lifting Chesta in  
his arms. Now, Chesta and I are going to bed. Youre  
welcome to sleep here on the couch, Ill bring you a blanket,  
and Ill make sure you two are awake in plenty of time to go  
back to your dorm without being missed.

Oh, not fair, Dalet moaned, stretching out. You  
two go and get to have lovely messy sex and I lie here with only  
chocolate mousse for company.

Folkens blushing, Chesta reported. Because  
you know what hes going to _do_ to me-e.

 _Please_ , Chesta.

Please, Folken. He kissed him on the chin.

Behave yourself.

Night night, Dalet, called Chesta, waving over  
Folkens shoulder as he was carried into the bedroom. Folken  
returned to spread a blanket over Dalet and found him fast asleep  
with the bowl of mousse balanced on his chest. He moved the bowl to  
the table and tucked Dalet in. Another boy hed never taken much  
notice of until he turned up on his doorstep; another very pretty  
boy, although in a very different way from Chestas porcelain  
beauty. Dalet was like a slender little light brown cat; Folken had  
found his eyes disturbingly knowing. He stretched and then relaxed as  
the blanket was tucked around him, making him think again of a cat.

 _A very boozed-up little cat. Sleep tight, kitten._

He re-entered the bedroom to find Chesta sitting coquettishly in  
the middle of the bed, naked except for one of Folkens shirts,  
snatched from a drawer. He stopped just inside the doorway to enjoy  
the sight of him.

I have a little wish, said Chesta.

Whats that?

To watch you take your clothes off.

I can grant that. He slid down the zip on his tunic.  
Chesta watched him with bright, misty eyes, at first stroking his own  
chest and stomach, then reaching down to play with himself.

Is this right? Folken asked as he let his skirts and  
underwear drop to the floor.

Exactly right. Come here. They met with gentle kisses,  
curling together amidst the rumpled sheets.

How do you want to proceed?

What do you mean, using a big word like "proceed"?

I dont know just, how do you want it to go  
tonight?

First, I just want to kiss and cuddle.

Are you sure youre in a fit state? Youre a bit  
dopey. Dalets passed out on the couch.

Im glad he was here tonight. Chesta kissed  
Folkens shoulder, thoughtfully. I think if wed been  
alone it would all have blown up into another very upset mess like  
last night.

Sweetheart, there wouldnt have been anything to blow  
up if Dalet hadnt come in like that.

Oh, all right thats true but Im  
still glad he was here. Im glad we all know the same secrets  
now and I can just talk to him without worrying about keeping my  
story straight. He was a good influence on us.

I _wish_ he wouldnt have said that about the  
carrot. I wont be able to look a carrot in the eye from now  
on.

Carrots dont have eyes.

Potatoes do.

Irriot, Chesta growled affectionately, rolling on top  
of Folken to kiss him better.

Sure you dont just want to take a break  
tonight?

Are you trying to get out of it or something?

I just dont want you to do anything unless you really,  
 _really_ want to. I dont want to risk hurting you again,  
even by accident.

I want to so much Chesta sighed. I want to  
make it _official_ again. He gave Folken a lingering kiss  
on the lips, their tongues moving round each other in a drowsy  
spiral. But maybe maybe it can wait. He lowered his  
head on Folkens shoulder, his eyelids fluttering closed.

Love you.

Thank you, Chesta. He  
stroked the boys hair until he fell asleep.


	19. Chapter 19

Folken woke with an unusual feeling of weight on top of him, and  
opened his eyes to find that at some stage during the night Dalet had  
crawled onto the bed with his blanket and curled up with them. The  
squash in the narrow bed was almost unbelievable. He reached over to  
light the bedside lamp, then nudged Chesta, who was beginning to  
stir.

Gummorning, Chesta mumbled, kissing his cheek without  
opening his eyes.

Chessy, wake up.

Whfor?

Look.

Chesta opened his eyes, wiped the sleep from their corners,  
blinked, and grinned.

Anyone seeing this would say it looked like you  
 _really_ scored last night.

Aargh. Folken let his head drop back on the pillow.  
He isnt going to want to come over every night from now  
on, is he?

Of course not, said Chesta, snuggling up against him.  
Isnt he cute when hes asleep? His bangs always get  
mashed to one side.

I dont think I like you calling someone else cute  
while youre in bed with me.

Ah, but he is merely _cute_ , while you are  
devastatingly handsome and incomparably gorgeous, Chesta  
said.

Oh. All right, then. Hes cute. Folken reached  
over, took a lock of hair from Dalets temple and placed it  
under his nose, making a moustache.

Thats much too old for him, Chesta said, shaking  
his head.

Does it ever strike you that our lives have become very,  
very strange?

I think they were strange anyway. Now theyre just  
strange in new ways. He leaned over and shook Dalets  
shoulder. Wakey wakey.

Nuhh said Dalet, and burrowed his face into the  
covers.

Dalet, said Folken, and didnt need to say any  
more. Dalet scrambled up and tried to get out of the side of the bed  
that was against the wall.

You have the Voice of Command, Chesta said to Folken,  
snuggling up and hugging his arm admiringly.

Why do I feel so _awful?_ Dalet groaned.

First, because you just bumped your forehead on the wall,  
second, because youre not used to waking up this early, and  
third, because youre very likely hung over, Folken said.

Go and have a drink of water. The worst of it is  
dehydration.

Yes, and shut the bathroom door so Folken can find some  
clothes without feeling embarrassed, Chesta added.

Thank you.

I dont know how you can live like this, Dalet  
said, peering groggily at the clock on the nightstand. God.  
Ive never _seen_ a clock at three in the  
morning.

Well, we get to go back to bed in the dorm, Chesta  
pointed out.

No wonder you always look shagged out, Dalet muttered,  
and made his way to the bathroom, yawning.

Poor thing, said Folken, without much sympathy.

Hes exaggerating about the clock.

And now we dont get to make beasts of ourselves in the  
bathroom, Folken complained, lying back down with Chesta  
nestled in his arms.

We still can, once hes finished.

I dont think I can, really. I would feel very  
uncomfortable knowing he was out in the next room waiting for us to  
be finished. It was bad enough last night when he was just sleeping  
out there; I was relieved when you fell asleep because Id been  
afraid I wouldnt be able to perform for nervousness.

You? Unable to perform? Impossible, Chesta said, and  
grinned. Anyway, I remember you keeping it up through several  
minutes conversation with Van-sama and having your way with me  
almost immediately after.

Yes, but he didnt _know_ what we were up to.  
 _Thats_ whats embarrassing. Folken raked his  
fingers through his hair, rubbing away the slight itchiness he felt  
on waking. I like this type of thing to be very  
private.

No three-way, then, said Chesta, in a disappointed  
tone.

Chesta!

Im joking! Im joking. I love only you,  
remember? He gave Folken a peck on the cheek. It might  
look very nice in a picture but in the real world I want it to be  
just you and me. And anyway Dalet doesnt want to. He likes  
Migel, remember?

Oh yes. Im just trying to remember which one of you  
that is.

Taller than me, short brown hair parted on the side,  
good-looking in a slightly haughty sort of way?

I think Ive got him placed, but I might be wrong. I  
used to confuse you and that other one with blond hair. Whatshisname.  
Parts it in the middle.

You confused me with _Gatti!?_ Folken, youve  
crushed me!

Only a tiny little bit when I didnt really know  
you, Folken protested. Chesta let him know he was forgiven with  
a kiss, and they settled down again to wait for Dalet to vacate the  
bathroom.

Folken?

Hmm?

Dalet and I have a Theory.

What sort of theory?

We think maybe _all_ the Dragonslayers are  
queer.

I wouldnt know about that.

So there isnt anything in the selection criteria that  
would mean more queer boys got in?

Certainly not. Its a coincidence about the two of  
you.

And Dilandau-sama?

Folken winced; hed managed not to think about Dilandau for a  
while. Dilandau is an entirely different kettle of fish.  
 _I suppose theres a sort of logic to it. Since he really is a  
girl. But the two personalities are quite distinct I dont  
see how Celenas feelings could affect it that way, and she  
doesnt ever seem to have aggressively pursued Van perhaps  
he is just homosexual at that. I dont understand it. Dont_

want _to understand it._

And I dont want to talk about a kettle of fish,  
he said decisively, rolling Chesta over and tickling him. There was a  
good deal of tussling and giggling going on under the sheets when  
Dalet emerged from the bathroom, and promptly backed straight back in  
and shut the door.

Its all right, Chesta called out. Just go  
on through to the front room.

Right, Dalet said, putting a blushing face back into  
the room and following it rather uncertainly with the rest of his  
body. Scuse me. He hurried out to the front room and shut  
that door behind him. Drinking about a litre of water had made him  
feel a little fresher, but he still felt that he was up entirely too  
early. He pottered around a little, making himself comfortable; a few  
minutes later Chesta came out, in his pajamas again and towelling his  
hair dry.

Thats the fastest shower Ive ever had here, and  
then Folken shooed me out so I wouldnt distract him while  
hes shaving, he remarked. Oh, _ugh_ , Dalet,  
what are you _doing?_ How can you eat that first thing in the  
morning?

Its in lieu of coffee, Dalet replied  
defensively, taking another spoonful of leftover chocolate  
mousse.

I think youre mad, and Im going to finish the  
raspberries, Chesta informed him.

Its a much nicer breakfast than well be getting  
in a few hours, Dalet said as Chesta sat down beside him with a  
bowl of berries. Does he always lay on a spread like this for  
you?

No, its special, Chesta said. You just  
lucked out, turning up when there was a chance of free  
food.

Its the mooching instinct, said Dalet,  
laughing.

Have a raspberry.

Have some mousse.

They exchanged a few spoonfuls of the contents of their bowls and  
ate in companionable silence.

Ummmm Chesta?

Mm? Chesta looked up from his efforts to scrape the  
last traces of chocolate and raspberry juice from his bowl.

About last night Im sorry I got all weird and  
silly after Id had a few drinks. Im not really used to  
it.

Thats all right.

I mean, I think I said some things that I dont totally  
mean.

Like?

Like like Folken ordering Migel to sleep with me  
I mean I _know_ he wouldnt do that anyway, but - but

I know it makes me sound like a wimp, but I dont feel ready to  
go to bed with someone yet. Do you think thats  
stupid?

No, said Chesta, after considering it for a moment.  
Everyones different. I mean, when Folken made the first  
move I was thrilled to bits and ready to go for it straight away, but  
thats just me. You shouldnt feel like you have to hurry  
because of what other people are doing. Folken was twenty-five before  
he lost his virginity.

Wow. Dalet looked a little stunned. How old is  
he now?

Twenty-five, said Chesta, and grinned. I seduced  
him. Im terrible.

Hes _only_ twenty-five? I thought he must be like  
 _thirty!_

Do you think Id sleep with someone twice my  
age?

Its only half as old again as the age difference you  
 _have_ got.

Well, it feels like a bigger difference than that.  
Chesta sucked his spoon clean, meditatively.

When I think about being with Migel Dalet  
paused, looking at the patterns hed traced in his bowl with the  
spoon.

Hmm?

I just think about holding hands, kissing, maybe, sort  
of, you know, petting, but I dont imagine wed _do_  
it until were quite a lot older.

Well then, thats whats right for you. Dont  
worry about it.

As if Id ever get to find out anyway, Dalet  
said, leaning back and blowing up through his bangs. Hes  
so very very straight.

Folken says he doesnt know of any reason why  
Dragonslayers would be more likely to be fags. He thinks its a  
coincidence.

That doesnt mean were _not_ , of course.  
Coincidence is a wonderful thing!

The door to the bedroom slid back and Folken put his head out, his  
chin still half-covered with shaving lather.

You two its later than I thought. Youd  
better return to your dorm now. He beckoned to Chesta and  
pointed to the shaved side of his face. Kiss here. Chesta  
obeyed and made a little grimace.

You still taste soapy.

And your mouth is sticky.

Im sorry, Chesta said, wiping at Folkens  
cheek with his sleeve. Chocolate kiss.

Do you two think youve been cute enough for one  
morning? Dalet asked, waiting anxiously by the door.

Dont be rude, said Chesta, joining him. Together  
they crept out into the pre-dawn dark.

Dalet? Chesta whispered just as they came to the  
dormitory door.

What?

Im really glad you came Im glad you know  
everything now. He found his friends hand in the dark and  
gave it a warm squeeze, returned by Dalet.

Well, youre welcome. Now sshh!

 

 _Everything is fine now. Well, all right, its not so good  
when I sit down, but everythings _better _. I have a friend  
who understands Ive sorted things out with  
Folken-sama now _my _problems are solved, maybe I can do  
something to help Dilandau-sama. Within reason. From now on_

well, I cant believe this is me saying this, but hed  
better keep his hands to himself.

 

Dilandau was not exactly hiding. He was sort of lying in ambush,  
letting the shadows of the catwalk conceal him. There wasnt any  
sign of Van yet, and really he was just guessing that he would come,  
but it was the only first-hand Van-sighting hed had outside the  
places he might legitimately show up. It was making him nervous just  
to be there, but he kept reminding himself that if he only sat tight  
he would have the advantage of surprise.

And he had to see him, had to touch him, had to get a reaction,  
even if it were a negative one. He bit his bare fingertips  
unconsciously, feeling a little cold in his shirtsleeves.

 _There._ Van was stepping out onto the catwalk, looking  
around him warily. He stopped in the middle and stripped off his  
jacket, then his shirt; he stood still a moment, stretching his arms  
above his head and tilting his head from side to side, loosening his  
shoulder muscles. Dropping his arms, he stared out into the clear  
morning sky, breathing deeply. He had the wind knocked out of him as  
Dilandau pounced and tackled him; they rolled to the ground and he  
found himself pinned on his back with Dilandau sitting astride his  
body.

Good morning! Dilandau said brightly.  
Didnt see you at breakfast. Hows the boy?

Get off me, Van growled.

How can I, knowing you get off on me? Dilandau purred,  
leaning down and flicking the tip of his tongue against Vans  
lips before he could turn his face away.

Kicking his legs up, Van managed to buck him halfway off and roll  
over, capturing Dilandau with a forearm across his throat.

You are _not_ going to have it your way, he  
grunted.

I had it _all_ my own way yesterday, Dilandau  
said, his voice not much above a whisper.

Youre _sick._ Do you know that? Youre  
disgusting.

And _you_ like watching me masturbate. Whos  
sick? He grinned and moved his hips, gently rocking against  
Vans body.

Stop that.

You like it.

 _Stop_ it.

Make me.

Ill make you _choke_. He put his weight on  
the arm across Dilandaus throat and had the satisfaction of  
seeing him struggle for breath. As the albino boys face  
reddened, he bent down and kissed his mouth, deeply, firmly,  
suffocating him with both pain and pleasure. Despite the discomfort,  
Dilandau responded with a fierce eagerness and he never had  
obeyed the command to stop rubbing himself against Van. Shifting  
gently under him, he got Vans thigh between his legs and  
pressed his growing hardness against it. Van released his chokehold,  
lowering himself on top of Dilandaus body, gripping a handful  
of his hair as their tongues fought. Dilandau drew Vans lower  
lip into his mouth, sucking it until it felt swollen and inflamed,  
then biting its tenderness. Van tried to draw back, but Dilandau held  
him; he tugged a little, and felt pain. Dilandau was grinning, his  
eyes shining hatefully. Pushing his knee harder into Dilandaus  
groin, he issued a silent threat; _hurt me and Ill hurt  
you._ Reluctantly, Dilandau opened his mouth; Van jerked his head  
away, gasping.

Spoilsport, Dilandau breathed. His hand shot down  
between Vans legs, grabbing, not gentle. With a thrust of his  
hips he rolled the two of them over, claiming dominance, beginning to  
ride Vans thigh.

Get the fuck off me! Van shoved hard and managed to  
free himself, scrabbling back against the railing. Dilandau picked  
himself up onto hands and knees and crouched there, gazing at him  
with bright fiery eyes.

Dont you like our game? he asked, wetting his  
lips with his tongue. It was so _red_ ; somehow it looked obscene  
to Van. A jolt of fear went through him and was swiftly transmuted  
into anger.

All right, then, Dilandau said casually, getting to  
his feet. Goodbye. He began to walk away, as calmly as if  
nothing had happened.

 _He is_ not _doing that to me again._ Van launched  
himself at Dilandaus back, knocking him to his knees and  
bringing his fist down on his shoulders with all his force. Dilandau  
cried out but slipped out from under him like a greased eel;  
scrambling to his feet, he ran, barging through the door to the  
internal corridor.

There was no chance to duck into a hiding place this time; Van was  
right on his heels, almost as fast as he was. He had to tell himself  
quite sternly that turning his head to see the look on Vans  
face would only slow him down and make him easier to catch. _But  
maybe I _want _him to catch me._ Being chased like this was  
certainly exhilarating; knowing how he had provoked Van, getting such  
a reaction, was making his heart beat fast in a way that had nothing  
to do with the exertion of running. He was getting the giggles.

Without any conscious direction, his feet were carrying him to a  
place where he could stand at bay; he pelted into the training hall,  
losing a critical second in opening the door; Van caught up and they  
tumbled over the floor under the astonished gaze of the boys  
assembled for exercise.

Chesta, who had been doing sit-ups with Dalet holding his feet  
down, sprang into an upright position in a way he hadnt even  
known he was capable of; he heard Dalet exclaim Shit!  
Catfight! and a nervous titter from Gatti.

Dalet hadnt been trying to be funny; it really did look like  
a catfight, the way the two of them were locked together. Already  
there were bleeding scratches on Vans back and arms; he reared  
up long enough to deliver two hard punches to Dilandaus face  
before being thrown back down, a handful of his hair seized and the  
back of his head banged against the floor.

The paralysis of shock left Chesta. He leapt forward and threw his  
arms around Dilandau from behind, pinning his arms down to his sides  
and dragging backwards, trying to haul him off Vans body.

Dilandau-sama, please, stop!

Dilandau screamed and thrashed against him; there were tears of  
fury running down his face along with a trickle of blood from his  
nose. Terrified, Chesta hung on; he glimpsed Migel trying to restrain  
Van and yelling for someone to help before he was joined by  
Dalet.

 _Leaving me to deal with Dilandau-sama alone!_ Chesta felt  
put-upon in the midst of his panic, but a moment later he was joined  
by Biore and between them they managed to still Dilandau. He hung  
limply from their arms, breathing heavily.

Are you all right? Chesta whispered. We  
didnt want you to get hurt. Straightening up, Dilandau  
gave him a murderous glare.

You think I cant beat him?

I think youre bleeding. Chesta offered him his  
handkerchief, which he ignored.

Gave him a fat lip, said Dilandau, and giggled  
faintly. Now that the crisis seemed to be over, Biore had deserted  
them, falling back to whisper wide-eyed with Gatti. Whats  
gotten into you, Chesta? Where do you get off interfering like  
this?

I - I could tell stories about you, Dilandau-sama,  
Chesta said, with a kind of desperate boldness. Dilandau blinked,  
startled; Chesta saw the dilated pupils of his eyes shrink down.

Thought you were on my side, he murmured.

I am, Chesta said softly. I am. But theres  
a limit to what Ill put up with. To what any of us will.  
Youre putting yourself in danger, Dilandau-sama, riding for a  
fall. You cant go on like this. _If only I could talk  
to you privately. If only there was any way youd listen to me  
and take me seriously._

Dilandau stared at him incredulously, then began to laugh, a  
little hysterically.

Give me that handkerchief, he said, snatching it and  
pressing it to his nose. He was also, Chesta thought, going to need  
some ice; an impressive bruise was swelling on his cheekbone.  
Dilandau shook his arm free from Chestas loosening grasp and  
strode forward to Van, still held like a prisoner between Migel and  
Dalet, and spitting threats at them. He grew still as Dilandau  
approached; their eyes locked and Dalet found himself imagining a  
shower of sparks.

Youve got to learn, Dilandau said softly.  
Not the face.

Van didnt reply, only stared wildly. Dalet shot an uneasy  
glance at Migel, wondering if he too could hear the rumbling growl in  
the boys throat.

Very deliberately, Dilandau reached out and dug the nail of his  
forefinger into Vans cheek, then dragged it down, making a  
livid red scratch, the twin of his own scar. Startled, Migel and  
Dalet tried to back away without letting go.

You can go, boys, Dilandau said, still not taking his  
eyes off Vans. Hesitantly, they retreated. Shifting his fingers  
to cup Vans chin, he tilted his head gently to the side and  
licked the blood from his cheek with the tip of his tongue, retracing  
the line of the scratch. Van stood motionless under his touch.

How do _you_ like it, demon king? Dilandau  
breathed into his ear. There was a moments absolute stillness.  
Then Vans fist shot out at waist height, punching up into  
Dilandaus stomach, slamming into his solar plexus. He dropped  
to his knees, unable to breathe. Van stood over him a moment, glaring  
around at the Dragonslayers as if daring them to approach. Then he  
stalked out of the room.

D-Dilandau-sama Chesta stammered. The only sound  
from Dilandau was a painful wheezing. He seemed to be trying to get  
up, but couldnt quite make it.

Dilandau-sama Dalet touched his shoulder, and  
was angrily shrugged away. After a moment he pushed himself to his  
feet, and stood with his head bowed, hugging his stomach, breathing  
hard. Gasping, he covered his mouth with his hand.

mgonnabesick He ran for the locker room,  
slamming the door behind him. After the slam, the silence in the  
training hall was deafening. Chesta shifted uneasily and heard the  
leather of his pants squeak so loudly it frightened him. Most people  
were staring wide-eyed at the door. Then a soft undercurrent of  
whispering began.

 _Oh my God. No-one is going to help him. Theyre standing  
there _discussing _it! A couple of weeks ago we would  
practically have been throwing up in sympathy!_ He dashed after  
Dilandau. A hand caught his arm as he reached the door; Gatti.

Are you sure you should

Let go of me! Chesta snapped, jerking his arm  
away.

Im just trying to look out for you, mushroom head.  
Weve got to stick together.

If youre not his friend youre not mine  
either, Chesta said, hot with embarrassment at the tears he  
could feel welling up. Leave us alone! He went through  
the door, smacking it shut.

Typical Chess, said Gatti, looking peeved.

Hes just got no _concept_ of the  
situation.

Now hes just gonna get his face ripped off,  
Biore sighed.

Well, thank you for your analysis, Dalet said sharply.  
Does anyone remember how it used to be? Does anyone remember  
what we used to _care_ about?

Everythings changed, Gatti protested.

Youve changed.

Sove you!

Well - well - at least I havent changed into a  
bitch!

Gattis eyebrows went up. What the hell kind of talk is  
that? Are you looking for a fight?

Calm down, both of you, Migel said. Dalet - you  
want to go and see if Chestas all right?

Yes. Yes, thank you.

The rest of you, get on with what you were doing!

Migel clapped his hands together briskly, taking command. Dalet shot  
him a grateful look as he slipped through the door to the locker  
room. _Maybe I just want to follow a leader - a leader who  
wont let me down - I feel like I could believe in him like I  
used to believe in Dilandau. Who can understand a crush?_

Chesta was kneeling on the floor outside a closed toilet stall,  
tearfully pleading with Dilandau, whose feet Dalet could see under  
the partition.

Dilandau-sama please, please come out. I wont  
let them say anything to you. _I_ wont say anything.  
Im sorry I said that, Im so, so sorry. I just dont  
want everything to go _wrong_.

There was silence from the stall, only rasping breathing.

I love you, Dilandau-sama. I still love you! Im  
sorry Im sorry!

Dalet felt deeply embarrassed on Chestas behalf, even if his  
own feelings were a dilute version of the same sentiment. Hed  
always had too much pride to say it like that. He stepped forward and  
put his hand on Chestas shoulder.

Come on, Chess. Let him have some time alone. He needs to  
calm down. Itll be okay.

It wont. It wont! Chesta sobbed. It  
feels like the worlds coming to an end! I thought I could help  
but I cant stop them!

Dilandau-sama? Dalet raised his voice cautiously.

Whenever you want to come out, well be here. We still  
believe in you, okay? It was a half-truth, of course, but he  
was lying for both Dilandaus sake and Chestas.  
Chess, what are you doing?

If - if I take out this stupid dragon, do you  
think

Leave it alone, Dalet said softly, gently peeling  
Chestas fingers away from the earring. It wont do  
anyone any good to hurt yourself. Dont pull on it like that.  
Dry your eyes and blow your nose.

D-dilandau-samas got my handkerchief.

Oh - well, you can use mine, Dalet started to say,  
when the stall door opened, swinging inward. Dilandau stood there  
staring at the pair of them, his face pale and his eyes almost  
vacant, holding out the blood-spotted handkerchief in a stiff  
hand.

Th-thank you, Dilandau-sama. Chesta reached out his  
hand; Dilandau dropped the handkerchief before he could quite get  
hold of it, not tauntingly, but as if he had just forgotten to keep  
gripping it. He stepped forward like a sleepwalker and made his way  
to the sinks, where he leaned on the edge of a basin and stared at  
himself in the mirror, at the blood on his upper lip, at the blue  
bruise rising below his eye. He started to shiver.

Dilandau-sama, itll be all right, Dalet said,  
trying to be the voice of reason. This has just been a bad day.  
Well pick up tomorrow and go on as normal, okay?

Dilandau was shaking harder, clinging to the rim of the basin.

Try to calm down, said Dalet soothingly, with an  
increasing feeling of helplessness. Dilandau turned away from the  
basin and slowly, deliberately let himself down onto his hands and  
knees, then curled up on the cold tile floor, still shuddering all  
over. His pupils were pinpoints, unseeing; his teeth were locked  
together, the lips drawn back in a convulsive rictus.

Oh, shit, said Dalet to Chesta. It was pretty obvious  
now that Dilandau couldnt hear them. I think hes  
really sick.

Somehow that settled Chestas nerves; at least, he seemed to  
know what to do. Ill get Folken-sama, he said  
decisively, standing up. You just look after him, and make sure  
no-one comes in. He wouldnt want them to see him like  
this.

Are you sure? I mean, about getting Folken?

Folken-sama will know what to do, Chesta said. He  
wiped his eyes briefly with the handkerchief, leaving ghastly smears  
of blood on his cheeks, and took off through the door to the  
dormitory.

Its all very well for Folken-sama, Dalet said to  
the air. He looked at Dilandau, wondering if he should roll him onto  
his back or try to keep his airway clear or something. His first-aid  
training didnt really cover people who rolled up into balls and  
lay there shivering and staring at nothing. The shaking seemed to be  
getting worse; what if it turned into a full-on seizure?

Dilandaus hands, he saw, were clenched into fists so tight  
that his nails were cutting his palms. Trickles of blood ran down his  
wrists.

Hey, hey, he murmured, please, stop  
it Carefully, he prised open Dilandaus hands,  
holding them open by pressing his palms against Dilandaus. The  
shivers, he saw with relief, were diminishing; after a moment the boy  
lay almost still.

Abruptly, Dilandaus back arched like a bow; his head snapped  
back and his mouth opened in a soundless scream. Dalet recoiled, his  
back hitting the wall between two sinks. This was the worst thing he  
had ever seen; it was as if some inhuman force had invaded the  
fragile body before him, bending it to breaking point. Sweat was  
pouring off Dilandau; he could actually see it pushing out through  
his skin.

Still apparently unconscious, still screaming without making a  
whisper, Dilandau tore at himself with his nails, clawing his arms  
and ripping open his shirt. Dalet sprang forward to try to restrain  
him from hurting himself, and stopped in shock at what he saw.

Dilandaus whole body was changing shape. Every muscle  
rippled and contorted as the new form asserted itself. His back  
arched again, and Dalet found himself staring stupidly at his chest,  
bare with the shirt hanging in rags on either side, as his nipples  
swelled, then rose at the epicentres of two mounds of white flesh. It  
seemed so grotesque that it took him a second to realise they were  
perfectly normal female breasts.

Whatever tension bent the bow was released, and Dilandau slumped  
to the floor. His body was a bizarre thing now, half male, half  
female; there was still the face Dalet knew, but these  
 _breasts_ , and the spreading curve of his hips - even while  
there was still the bulge of male anatomy between his legs.

Whats _happening_ to you, Dilandau-sama? he  
whispered. With a faint feeling at the back of his mind that it was a  
quite ridiculous thing to do, and also a certainty that it was the  
only _decent_ thing to do, he tried to pull the front of the  
ripped shirt together to cover what he had to think of as  
Dilandaus breasts. He looked up guiltily as the door from the  
dorm opened and Chesta hurried in, followed by Folken.

Somethings happened to him! he burst out.

I didnt touch him! His bodys changing, he just went  
 _spaz_ and his back all arched and hes got  
 _breasts!_

Oh no, said Folken, looking dismayed but not at all  
surprised.

Breasts! Dalet repeated, afraid the full import of the  
matter wasnt quite sinking in.

Dilandau-sama? Chesta whispered, his eyes like  
saucers.

Hell be all right, Folken said briskly, stepping  
forward and bending to pick up the limp body from the floor.

Is he - is he _breathing?_ Chesta asked.

Yes, said Dalet, feeling rather as though he might get  
the giggles Dilandau-style in a moment, you can tell because of  
how his _breasts_ are going up and down.

Whats _happening?_

Nothing I can explain right now. Folken looked at  
their stricken faces and seemed to realise that this was inadequate.

You did the right thing in coming for me, Chesta. Ill be  
able to take care of him. Theres nothing to worry about.  
He hefted Dilandau in his arms, adjusting his grip so he could carry  
him away. Just go back and explain that Dilandau has been taken  
ill and will be absent for - for a few days, I expect.

Is he going to die?

I promise hes not going to die, Folken said.  
I promise you, Chess. And wash your face before you go back to  
the others, you look like youve done murder. It gave me a hell  
of a fright when I saw you. He bent, awkwardly with the burden  
in his arms, and kissed Chesta on the forehead. Its going  
to be fine. He turned and left, carefully turning his body so  
as not to hit Dilandaus head against the doorframe.

Oh God, said Chesta, his shoulders sagging as the  
adrenaline drained away.

But you heard him, Dalet said, putting an arm round  
him, its going to be okay.

Dilandau-sama

Its going to be okay, Dalet repeated. You had to  
be able to take the Strategos word for it, you just had to. He  
was beginning to shake himself, which gave him a moments terror  
that this mysterious turning-into-a-girl malady was about to strike  
him next. Then again, would that be so bad? Migel might fancy him  
that way. Helplessly, he started to laugh, leaning against  
Chesta.

Dalet? Chesta said in alarm. He was supposed to be the  
one who went to pieces, not cool, cynical Dalet.

Its all gone fucking nuts! Dalet sputtered. The  
laughter was beginning to sound like tears. I _saw_ it,  
Chess! I saw him changing. Whats _happening?_

Itll be all right, Chesta said, trying to give  
him the handkerchief. Oh! No, dont use this. Toilet  
paper, Ill get you some toilet paper.

Ive got one, Dalet reminded him, digging the  
hanky out of his pocket. He blew his nose hard, trying to get hold of  
himself. Its - its not like the real _world_

any more, is it? People dont just change sex in the bathroom!  
Theyd - theyd be in the wrong bathroom, for one  
thing!

Dalet, youre scaring me.

 _Youre_ scared! _You_ didnt see  
Dilandau sprout _breasts!_ Dalet giggled weakly. It  
was like _balloons_ blowing up! I think Im scarred for  
life. Its a good thing I didnt fancy girls  
anyway.

There was a tap on the door.

Whos there? they both called.

Um Migel is everything all right in there? I  
mean, can I come in?

Dalet shook his head frantically. Dont want him to see  
me like this! he whispered. He hadnt cried in years and  
he couldnt stand for Migel to witness it.

Youre not the one with blood all over your face,  
Chesta muttered. He raised his voice and called to Migel,  
Everythings okay, but Dilandau-sama isnt very well.  
Hes gone to - to sickbay. Hell be out for a couple of  
days. Were just cleaning up in here.

Cleaning up?

Yeah, he really wasnt very well at all.

Oh, right, said Migel, evidently instantly losing  
interest in coming in. Okay. Well, well be going along to  
the hangardo a little melef drill you guys join us when  
youre ready, okay?

Okay. Chesta turned back to Dalet, who was splashing  
his face with cold water.

Isnt it great how hes taken charge? he  
asked, feeling for a towel, which Chesta handed to him. My  
hero!

Hes not as in-charge as _my_ boyfriend,

said Chesta, feeling a little better if they could kid each other  
like this.

Im starting to wonder if _anyones_ in  
control, Dalet said, shaking his head. I guess only  
timell tell.


	20. Chapter 20

Folken entered the garden, carrying Celena in his arms. Under  
sedation, Dilandau had completed his reversion, the bruising of the  
fight and the self-inflicted scratches disappearing from his skin as  
he fully became the girl. Folken had dressed this body in  
Celenas clothes, carefully, feeling as if he were dressing a  
living doll, slipping limp, heavy arms through the shoulder-straps of  
the loose green sundress. Now he gently laid her down on the soft  
grass, watching her relax into a deeper, more natural sleep. Yielding  
for a moment to the balmy air of the place, he sat down at her side,  
his good hand absent-mindedly stroking away the strands of ash-blonde  
hair that fell across her face.

Youre better off this way, he said quietly.  
Everything falls into place, doesnt it? No more fights  
with Van. No black eyes for you. His fingers traced her  
cheekbone. Youre such a pretty girl. I couldnt  
choose anyone better for him. With no Dilandau around, hell  
calm down. And I can persuade him in time that its all right to  
be with you. Its _good_ for him to be with you.  
Youre back for a reason, Im sure.

Shading his eyes with his hand, he looked up at the sunny sky  
through the glass dome. Its all changed he  
murmured. I never realised it would change so much to have Van  
here and indirectly, you know, he sent Chesta to me, to bring  
me joy and turn my world upside down. So what do I do now? I have to  
admit, Celena, theres no Plan now. Its so strange to have  
a change of heart in what I thought was a state of mind.

'I can't spy on him any more, either. It was getting quite  
pointless, since I couldn't _act_ on anything I learned without  
damaging our trust... but besides that, by now it simply feels wrong.  
I want to do the right thing by him, just as with Chesta.'

He was quiet for a few minutes, watching the bees amid the meadow  
flowers. Celena gently shifted her sleeping position, cradling her  
head in the crook of her arm.

'Of course, Chesta will miss his Dilandau-sama, but there's  
someone else to lead the Dragonslayers... no real _need_ for  
Dilandau... and I'll tell him the truth, of course, in the end. I'll  
just give him time to calm down, and then break it to him gently. As  
long as he knows you're really all right, I think he'll accept it. He  
has a wonderfully accepting nature. I only hope you get to know what  
it's like to have someone love you as Chesta loves me. He says and  
does the sweetest little things - he writes me notes and leaves them  
in my pockets for me to find during the day. Love-notes, and rather  
naughty little notes making suggestions... well, that's between the  
two of us. I'm probably saying too much. You're a very good listener,  
you know.' Folken glanced at his sleeping confidante and laughed  
softly at himself.

I wonder if youll remember when you wake, or if Van  
will have to teach you again from the beginning? he mused.  
Well, well see. And for the future I just  
dont know. Its not clear to me any more. To be  
honest between you, me and the flowers Im looking  
for a way out. Perhaps perhaps we could go back to Fanelia. I  
could try to compensate for destroying it by rebuilding it. Give them  
the benefit of what Ive learned and you could be  
Vans Queen. Would you like that? He smiled at the  
sleeping girl. Its all a fantasy, you know.

A tiny, grey-blue butterfly wafted down and alighted on the tip of  
the forefinger of his steel hand. He watched it open and close its  
wings.

I dont know what I can do for any of you  
but Ill try. I have to make the most of the time Ive got,  
however long that will be. Ive refused to think of it, Celena,  
because there was always something more important, but to speak  
rather dramatically, Im not long for this world. Black wings  
are a fairly unequivocal sign for someone of my ancestry.

The butterfly fluttered away.

I may have years yet, he said, trying to sound  
optimistic. It only means a _shortened_ life who  
knows, I might have lived to be a hundred otherwise. And it  
hasnt been much of a life, has it therell just be  
some people its rather hard to leave Despite his  
best efforts, tears stung his eyes and his voice faded.

Anyway, he said, pulling himself together and rising  
to go, itll all be all right somehow. Ill see to  
it. Its the least I can do. Sleep well, Celena.

 

Moonlight turned the dell of the garden into a pearly basin,  
although there was no chill of night. In the controlled atmosphere,  
there was no clammy dew either. It was not cold that made Dilandau  
sit up with a shiver.

 _Where am I? What are these clothes? What happened? I cant  
remember a thing since I threw up in the toilet Im_

Im all wet sweaty. Am I outside? This feels like grass,  
and dirt underneath but it feels warm, and  
indoors _, somehow. God, my head hurts. Just need to sit still  
for a moment._ He rubbed his hands over his face, through his  
hair.

 _Im - Im wearing a dress, girls clothes.  
Whats going on?_ A first pulse of panic sharpened the pain  
in his head. _Is someone playing a trick on me? Who would dare? Is  
Van watching me from somewhere?_

 _Why does this feel_ familiar?

 _Ive got to get home. Got to get out of here. Find  
_ my _clothes. Just just take care of that, and worry about  
the rest later._

He pushed himself to his feet, breathing deeply. His legs felt a  
little weak, but he thought he was going to be all right now; no more  
puking or collapsing. Looking up, he could see the moon and clouds  
through a huge skylight. He _was_ indoors, then; probably still  
on the _Vione_. Hed heard a rumour of a private garden  
somewhere in the fortress, a luxury for the top brass. There was a  
gap in the artificial woodland ahead. Hurrying forward over the  
uneven ground, he found a wall and a door. Its combination lock was  
sealed on the outside, but could be released from within. He opened  
it slowly, wary of guards. There was no-one, nothing, just the dark  
corridor and the cold night.

 _Home. Ive got to get home, I want my own bed, my warm red  
bed! God I sound like a little kid._ He rubbed his arms,  
trying to smooth down the goosebumps that had risen since he left the  
garden. _And I feel stupid wearing a skirt, and these little girly  
undies, and - well, I quite like the boots, really, but otherwise  
this is no good. At least Im not wearing a bra. Anyone who put  
a bra on me would be one sick fuck. Do I go left or right here? I  
think it should be right that should get me to the right  
general area_

He paused, frozen on one foot for a second as he heard approaching  
footsteps, and managed to conceal himself in a shadow as a sentry  
crossed the far end of the corridor. The loudness of his breathing  
made him fearful, but he was overlooked. He hardly thought about why  
he did not want to be seen; it was simply a strong instinctive  
shrinking from the thought. He stole onward, feeling that he was  
running a maze.

 _Nearly there, nearly there, oh I just want to get home, shit  
sentry!_ No friendly shadows, the footsteps too near. His  
desperate eyes fell on a door in the wall nearest him; he wrenched it  
open and whisked himself inside before he realised he knew where he  
was.

He stood stock still, his back to the door, staring at Van.

Van sat on his bed, a book he had been reading open in his hands;  
not the dirty book he had been so obnoxious about, one of their  
prescribed texts. He was in his shirt and trousers; Dilandau could  
see the scratches on his arms, but all that seemed to flow away as he  
was drawn into Vans startled eyes.

Their was no sound but their breathing; Dilandaus, rapid and  
panicky, Vans, growing deeper as he rose from the bed,  
confusion and suspicion battling in his face.

Why are you wearing her clothes? he asked, his voice  
sounding husky. What are you playing at?

I - I dont know what you mean, Dilandau admitted  
weakly. I dont know whats going on, its  
someone elses game.

Do you seriously think _you_ can play innocent? Why are  
you wearing Celenas clothes?

Celena

Yes, Celena!

Dilandau caught his breath, flattening himself more against the  
door, as unknown memories welled up. For a moment, another mind  
looked out through his eyes; he shoved it back to the depths in  
terror, but he could not push away the memories, the record of the  
days he had thought he had passed unconscious, a time when he was  
someone else, when the boy standing before him was someone else  
meant something else He could hardly breathe.

Van truly did not know what to think. Dilandau looked so  
frightened. He wouldnt look this way if he were doing this to  
provoke him, would he? And would he still be playing that kind of  
game after what happened this morning? And how would he find out  
about Celena in the first place, much less find a way to steal her  
clothes? He was bewildered by Dilandaus eyes, how deeply they  
had dilated, the red iris only a thin rim around bottomless black,  
and then a flicker of blue

Oh, God he murmured. Thats  
thats impossible.

Still with his back to the door, Dilandau slipped down into a  
crouching position, gazing up at Van with those huge dark eyes.  
You you were so kind to me to her he  
breathed. Thats not you. It cant be you.

How can _you_ be _her?_

Dilandau hid his face in his hands, his whole body trembling.  
I d-didnt know, he whispered. I didnt  
know! I only just remembered. I woke up in the garden in our  
garden I was me and I couldnt remember how I got  
there Im not me all the time! Im not

 _me!_

You _are_ Celena. Van knelt down in front of him,  
trying to see his face. Do you do you remember the  
ladybird?

The ladybird and all your stories about flowers,  
and people long ago you fed me from your hands, you kissed me,  
you left me all alone

Oh God

 _How_ can both those boys be _you!?_ He  
looked up, his eyes blazing through tears.

Youre the one whos two different people,  
Van said uneasily.

Not just me! And - and you dont even _change_ ,  
you still look the same! In, in my head, youre petting me and  
beating me at the same time! I dont know which one of you is  
real, which one of _me_ is real!

Theyre theyre all real.

Dilandau is real?

Of course hes real. I couldnt get that intense  
about someone who wasnt _real_.

Do you love me or hate me? It was almost Celenas  
voice, tiny and lost.

I dont know I only know that either way, I want  
you

Dilandau jerked to his feet, alarmed. Van rose more slowly,  
holding him fixed to the spot with his gaze.

Dont worry

But its _you!_ His hands hung uselessly at  
his sides as Vans hands gently framed his face.

Dont worry Ill be nice now I mean,  
Im kissing Celena too He leaned forward, his  
eyelids fluttering closed, and their lips met, very softly. At the  
first touch Dilandaus hands clenched into desperate fists; his  
whole body froze and stiffened. And then, gradually, gently, the  
honey-warmth of the kiss bled into him, melting him. Unconsciously,  
his hands opened and he lifted them, seeking Vans body,  
wrapping his arms around his waist. Vans tongue touched his  
lips, sweetly requesting entrance, not a trace of the prodding,  
thrusting probe it had been. Now it was a tender lapping flame, and  
he admitted it eagerly, gladly, meeting it with his own.

It ended far too soon; Van drew back, gazing at him with a trace  
of uncertainty. All right? he asked.

Y-yes but youve _never_ kissed me like that  
before either of me

I can kiss you gently because youre Celena but I  
can kiss you _properly_ because youre Dilandau

dont ask me how that works.

Just just do it again Again their  
bodies pressing close together a sound in Vans throat  
somewhere between a moan and a growl the wet heat of his  
tongue, his lips, lower lip still full and swollen after his abuse of  
the morning

Bite, Van whispered, bite me again.  
Hesitantly, Dilandau obeyed, releasing Van after a moment.

Do you know, Van murmured, how thats  
ached, and tingled, and throbbed, since you did that to me? Do you  
know how Ive felt your kiss all day? Another kiss,  
deeper, a little more aggressive, but still sweet. Fingers stroking  
Dilandaus hair stroking, not pulling or wrenching

caressing, cradling the nape of his neck abruptly dropping to  
his thighs, pushing up the skirt of the loose sundress, then slipping  
up underneath, up over his hips, his stomach, reaching his chest,  
palms warm against his stiffening nipples, then fingers stroking,  
pinching He groaned in the midst of a kiss, sending low  
vibrations into Vans throat.

Good?

Yes good Something dark and hot and sweet  
tightened deep down inside with every stroke.

I think I like you in a dress. Pinching tighter,  
taking him to the edge of pain before releasing him into warm rubbing  
pleasure. And I like the way you gasp while I do this. What  
kind of noises will you make when I touch you somewhere  
else?

I - I dont know - no-one else has ever touched  
me

Lets find out, hmm? Hands slipping down to his  
hips, fingers lifting elastic, slipping down inside. And I like  
your little panties.

Theyre not mine.

Bet they make you feel pretty. A deep, probing kiss,  
as his hands ventured down to cup round Dilandaus buttocks.  
Circling, caressing, squeezing and lifting. And I bet you know  
youve got a gorgeous ass.

Well, of course I do. A flicker of a wicked smile.  
And I dont need to be wearing panties to feel

 _pretty_.

I think thats what always got me about you what  
drove me mad that you _knew_  you knew how you made  
me feel

 _Well, Ill just let you think that, then._ You  
did your best to spoil that.

I couldnt. You know the scar only makes you  
hotter.

It does?

It does. Parting Dilandaus buttocks, stroking  
the inner curve. Ill get inside your gorgeous ass  
tonight.

Think Ill let you?

I think you want it as much as I do. Deep, hard  
kisses, making him feel the truth of the words. Dilandau pressed his  
erection to Vans stomach, rubbing it gently up and down.

Let me out of these panties.

Mmm Still kissing him, Van hooked his thumbs in  
the waistband and eased it out over the hard taut shaft; Dilandau  
moaned with delight at being set free. Down over his thighs,  
stretched over the tops of the boots, slipping to the floor to puddle  
at his feet.

And now touch me grab me

No

No? If you tease me, Ill kill you.

I want you to tease _me_.

H-how?

Van stepped back, removing Dilandaus hands from his waist,  
and walked to the bed. He sat down on the edge, rather carefully, and  
beckoned to him. Come here. Stand in front of me.

All right

Now take off your dress Dilandaus hands  
went to the shoulder straps. No no, from the bottom. Lift  
your skirt slowly like the curtain going up.

 _Those greedy eyes on me like before only now  
Ill show him everything_ Van whimpered softly,  
eagerly, as Dilandaus body was revealed to him, inch by inch.  
There was something about a cock coming out from under a skirt that  
excited him beyond reason, something so naughty and wild and weird.  
His own cock was burning, trapped inside cotton and leather, begging  
to be touched.

Dilandau drew the dress off over his head and let it drop to the  
floor. Here I am, he said softly.

And touch it touch yourself

Do I have to do _all_ the work round here?  
Dilandau grumbled. He wrapped his left hand around the shaft,  
steadily pumping, while the more dextrous fingers of his right hand  
manipulated the tip, spreading the oily pre-come liquid over the  
blushing head, making it glisten in the lamplight.

Oh God Van moaned, laying his hand over  
Dilandaus left. Let me help Dilandau readily  
let him take over the stroke, squeezing the hot hardness he felt  
inside the petal-soft skin.

Do we keep going just like this?

No no, let me Pushing back the fingers  
working the tip, Van took Dilandaus cock in his mouth, suckling  
softly at first, then taking him deeper, pulling harder. It took the  
wind out of him as surely as the punch that morning, if you could  
have a blow of pleasure, a sharp, powerful jab right where he felt it  
most. His legs almost gave way; he grabbed Vans shoulders for  
support, then buried his fingers in Vans hair, pulling his head  
closer.

Suck me suck me he moaned. Roll your  
tongue around me _yes_  dont forget about your  
hand, keep it going oh, God, Van! Who taught you to do this?  
Someone must have must have do you suck your  
brothers dick? Do you - oh! Watch the teeth, watch the  
teeth okay Ill be good Ill be  
good lick me up and down up and down actually, you  
could use your teeth again oh, God, _yes_

Van released him. You taught me, stupid, he breathed.  
Now Im going to lie down and youre going to  
sit on my face.

Isnt that for a girl to do? Dilandau asked, as  
Van moved back onto the bed.

You are a girl. Do it.

Im a _boy_. You see this? Dilandau knelt  
astride him, his knees on either side of Vans head. You  
see this right in your face?

Move forward

Forward? He caught his breath, a sharp hiss between  
his teeth, as Van gripped his cock, pulling it up out of his way, and  
softly licked his balls.

Be careful be so careful He was shaking  
with the pleasure of feeling a tongue explore that area, giving him  
what he could never give himself. His cock was almost flat against  
his stomach in any case; Vans firm grip and his thumb circling  
over the wet head sent hot pulses down to meet the deep surge below.  
When he thought it could not possibly get better, Van drew his balls  
into his mouth and gently sucked. Dilandau cried out, a wail of joy,  
but the next second the wet enveloping heat was gone and Van was  
angrily whispering Shut up! You want people to be able to hear  
you? You want people to know what were doing?

I - Im sorry - Ill be good - please dont  
stop Sucking rolling with his tongue his  
thighs were shaking, and he had to grab the bedhead to hold himself  
up.

Oh Van Van dont stop Im going  
to Im going to come Vans fingers  
shifted to a tight grip at the base of his cock, trying to hold him  
back.

No, please let me Oh God! Vans mouth  
moved from his balls to the cleft of his perineum, the point of his  
tongue pressing in, sliding along, reaching the tight opening of his  
anus. A hand on his hip nudged him forward and down, bringing the  
tender spot nearer within Vans reach, spreading his buttocks  
further apart as that wicked hot tongue-tip circled and probed. Van  
formed a seal with his lips and sucked hard. Unable to hold up any  
longer, Dilandau let his weight down, really sitting on Vans  
face, feeling his tongue push up, penetrating, opening him for the  
first time. He gasped and strained against it, flexing the opening;  
Van pushed harder and made his tongue undulate. Panicky gasps burst  
from Dilandaus throat; he was losing control, being taken.

 _Am I am I not a virgin any more?_ The tongue was  
witdrawn, leaving him throbbing.

Howd you like a really dirty kiss? Van asked,  
his voice a little muffled.

Yes Dilandau scrambled back down, eagerly  
meeting Vans lips, sucking his pungent tongue.

Did you like that? Van whispered. Did you like  
having something inside you?

Yes

Ready for something bigger?

I - I dont know

Want a look at it first?

 _Oh_ yes.

Undo my pants. Thats good. Okay, Ill lift my  
hips you pull them down yes my shorts too  
yes there I am, Dilandau, theres what I want to ram into  
your sweet little ass, do you think you can take it?

I I dont know

You never know till you try.

Its its so big

You want it, dont you?

I want it

Come here. Sitting up, Van gathered Dilandau into his  
arms, straddling his lap. Its okay, he whispered,  
kissing him softly. Its all going to be okay. Were  
going to feel _so_ good. Hold on a second. He reached into  
the drawer of his nightstand, finding a jar of cream, the lid only  
balanced on so he could open it one-handed. He dipped his first two  
fingers, then slipped them between Dilandaus buttocks.

Aah!

Good? Or does it hurt?

It - it does both

Relax let it loosen up do you ever get your  
fingers in here when youre playing with yourself?

N-no.

Explains why youre so tight. He kissed  
Dilandaus shoulder. Once we get in past the, the kind of  
ring of muscle, it gets easier once you get that to relax  
oh, you feel so nice and soft inside so hot youre  
relaxing a little now.

Go deeper, Dilandau breathed.

Cant, sweetie. Feel that? Theyre in all the way.  
If you want it deeper its time for the cock.

Reaching down, Dilandau wrapped his hand around Vans thick  
erection, staring at it uncertainly. O-okay.

Youre going to love it. Want to get me ready? He  
offered the jar of lubricant; Dilandau took a little and smeared it  
over his swollen head. More than that. Thats right. You  
want me to be all slippery, so Ill slide in as smooth as a  
snake. _Oh_ yes. Good hands, very good hands.

Is that is that ready?

All ready. Come on and sit down on me. Oh oh yes  
oh, Dilandau, thats right can you feel me, can you feel  
my big cock spreading you open?

God, Van, how could I _not_ feel it?

Hurting?

A - a little

Im going slow for you

Let me Dilandau bore down on him, taking him  
deeper, gasping convulsively as internal muscle went into spasm for a  
second before relaxing to admit the welcome invader. His wet balls  
touched Vans stomach; he felt a kind of thrill of victory.  
 _Ive taken him all the way. I am_ definitely _not a  
virgin any more._

Vans eyes were screwed closed and his jaw clenched with the  
effort of holding back from orgasm. Is - is it okay with you if  
were just still for a moment?

Yes yes, I think I need to be still. He leaned  
his forehead on Vans shoulder, breathing heavily. Feels  
like my hearts beating in my ass.

You feel _so_ good all around me.

Will you move or should I?

Well move together. Van gently ran a fingertip  
up and down the length of Dilandaus cock. Hope this  
isnt feeling neglected.

Cant complain.

I hope I see you come. I hope Im looking right here  
when it shoots out.

Itll hit you in the eye.

Try and shoot it in my mouth. Laughing softly, Van  
kissed him, sucking and stretching his lower lip. Give me a  
squeeze squeeze like youre trying to push me  
out.

Oh God

Yes

His eyes closed in a fever of bliss, Dilandau rose up on  
Vans shaft and pushed himself down. He had to bite his lip not  
to cry out at the feeling.

Oh _yes_  murmured Van, bucking upward. He  
set a fast pace, thrusting hard, squeezing and pulling  
Dilandaus cock in time with the pumping of his hips.

Aaah!

I told you, be quiet!

I - I cant - oh God, Van! Van-sama!  
 _Van-samaaaaaaaa_ His scream was cut off as Van  
blocked his mouth with his forearm; Dilandau bit down desperately,  
feeling himself impaled by every stroke, pleasure becoming pain  
becoming pleasure, his cock pulsing as Vans fist pumped up and  
down, every sensation gathering and tightening deep low down inside,  
demon possession, taking over his body Van grunted as he came,  
he felt the spurt inside him, felt the shudder of his body, felt  
himself caught up and thrown forward in an unstoppable headlong rush  
into joy.

For a long, dizzy moment, both were transfixed, motionless; then  
Van gently moved his hips again, a slower stroke, easing them down,  
bringing them to rest together on the bed. He leaned back against the  
bedhead, Dilandau collapsed in his arms, breathing heavily into his  
ear. They lay in silence, their thundering heartbeats gradually  
slowing.

Dilandau became aware of the salt taste of blood in his mouth, and  
turned his head to look at Vans arm, marked with two red-purple  
semi-circles of toothmarks.

Um, he said. I seem tove chomped  
you.

Doesnt worry me, Van sighed contentedly.

Ive been wanting to do that to you for so long.

You had a chance before now, Dilandau pointed out, a  
little reproachfully.

I wasnt ready to take it. And I told you, _you_  
werent ready.

I didnt beg for it, though. I never begged.

But you called me Van-sama. A little smile quirked  
Vans reddened lips. Im your lord and  
master.

It - it was something I said in the heat of the  
moment, Dilandau protested, embarrassed.

You meant it. Van was grinning now. I loved  
hearing you scream my name like that. Couldnt let you go on,  
but I loved hearing it.

Well, treasure the memory, cause youre not  
hearing it again.

I can hear it any time I want to, Van purred, gently  
rocking his hips, making Dilandau catch his breath.

Shut up, he said softly. Still rocking, his mocking  
gaze fixed on Dilandaus face, Van dipped his finger in the  
splatter of Dilandaus come on his belly and licked it  
clean.

You really are a dirty bastard, Dilandau said, leaning  
forward to kiss him.


	21. Chapter 21

‘Umm...  
so what do you want to do now?’

‘I  
want to rest,’ said Dilandau, rolling over to face the wall. ‘I’m  
sleepy and my bum’s kind of sore.’

‘Oh.  
Right.’ Five minutes later, Van was feeling muddled. After  
feeling totally in command of the most exciting situation of his  
life, it was a very strange comedown. He had run out of ideas,  
though. His fantasies didn’t usually deal with aftermath, and  
what to do when you seemed to be stuck with Dilandau for the night.

_I  
wonder if it was wise to fuck someone I don’t think I _ like _  
very much._

_But  
Celena’s in there too, and I know I like her. Doesn’t  
that make it all right?_

_Depends.  
Would you have done it like that with Celena?_

_Well...  
no. But she’s different. It would all have been different. I  
suppose now we’d be lying here cuddling. I don’t think  
Dilandau is a cuddly person._

‘Umm...  
are you planning to stay the night?’

‘I’m  
not letting you kick me out again, if that’s what you mean,’

Dilandau said calmly, without turning.

‘No,  
I just wondered what your plans were.’ Van cautiously ran a  
finger along the upper line of toothmarks on his arm, exploring the  
sore tenderness, trying to decide if he was really hurt. The skin was  
only actually broken in a couple of places, under the mark of  
Dilandau’s sharp canines; the rest was just deep bruising. ‘The  
bed’s a bit small for both of us.’

‘Well,  
you’ll just have to put up with it, won’t you.’

A  
pause.

‘My  
arm hurts. You really had a good old _chew_   
here, didn’t you?’

An  
impatient sigh. ‘I was nearly asleep, thank you.’

‘I  
suppose it’s my fault for sticking it in your mouth.’

‘Yes.  
You should put some antiseptic on it or something. Human bites are  
nasty. I read somewhere we’ve got more germs in our mouths than  
a dog does.’

‘I’ve  
always been more of a cat person,’ Van said vaguely.

‘Yeah?  
Wash in your own spit, do you?’

‘Lick  
your own balls, do you?’

‘No,  
I have you to do that for me,’ Dilandau said, rolling over and  
grinning. ‘What’s your problem with dogs?’

‘It’s  
not that I _don’t_ like them.’

‘I  
like dogs,’ Dilandau said, as if he considered the statement  
profound and original, ‘because they’re loyal and  
obedient and devoted. They don’t give you any shit. Cats are  
too self-satisfied and aloof, you know? They don’t _need_

you. They’re not affectionate. And they’d never put you  
first ahead of themselves.’

‘Dilandau,  
you _are_ the cat you’ve just  
described,’ Van said, shaking his head in amusement. ‘Anyway,  
not all cats are like that.’

‘Just  
go and patch up your arm.’

‘You  
ought to do it for me. You’re the one who bit me.’

‘I’m  
not that kind of girl. And while you’re in the bathroom clean  
yourself up a bit. You smell.’

‘You’re  
so romantic,’ Van said sarcastically, getting up.

‘I  
don’t see anything romantic about buttfucking,’ Dilandau  
said, quite cheerfully, stretching out to occupy Van’s space in  
the bed. ‘Especially with someone I had a fist-fight with this  
morning.’

‘I’m  
– I’m sorry about that,’ Van said awkwardly.

‘Are  
you?’ Dilandau asked, looking puzzled.

‘Well,  
aren’t you? I mean, now that – now that we’re like  
this?’

‘I  
only see the point in apologising for things you didn’t mean to  
do. Like if I hadn’t meant to piss you off. I never do anything  
I don’t mean, so I never have to say I’m sorry. But I can  
see you being sorry for taking it too far and going apeshit on me.  
So, apology accepted.’

‘You’re  
incredible.’

‘Thank  
you.’

‘It  
wasn’t a compliment.’

‘Ah,  
fuck you. Oh, wait, I already did.’ Dilandau stuck his tongue  
out at him and rearranged the pillow to make himself more  
comfortable.

Van  
bathed his arm in the sink, and found some antiseptic cream and an  
adhesive gauze pad in the medicine cabinet. After that, looking down  
at himself, he decided he might as well just get into the shower. The  
hot water felt clean and sweet, spraying down on him, and he began to  
feel better as he soaped himself down. He hadn’t realised quite  
how dirty he was feeling until he began to clean up.

 _I  
can’t believe I did all those things. That it was really me. I  
_lang=EN-GB>was _a dirty bastard. I’m standing here with the  
taste of his cock, not to mention his ass, in my mouth._

He opened his mouth to let hot water run in. _Maybe some soap’d  
help. Like a punishment for a boy with a dirty mouth._

_Come  
on. Come on, you’re being unreasonable. This stuff is just...  
it’s healthy, and natural, Folken said... well, he said that  
about masturbation, and about fantasies. He never exactly said it was  
okay to actually do it with another boy._

_I  
can’t tell him I did this. I can’t get him to tell me it’s  
all all right. I’m stuck with it, stuck with him._   
Gradually, he sank down to sit with his back against the wall,  
cradling his head in his hands. The water pattered down; it was  
soothing to his skin, but the guilt was inside, waterproof.

Through  
the hissing shower noise, he heard Dilandau pad into the bathroom  
alcove, his footsteps soft; he must finally have taken off Celena’s  
boots. There was a clank as the toilet seat went up, then a trickling  
and splashing.

 _Oh,  
God, he hums while he pisses._ The toilet  
flushed, and a moment later the taps ran. _What do you know, he  
actually washes his hands – I wouldn’t have given him  
credit for that._lang=EN-GB> The shower was running hotter on him; he shifted round to  
lean against the wall with the showerhead mounted on it, sheltered  
from the spray. It was like being behind a waterfall, he thought, in  
a slate-walled cave. Hermits meditated behind waterfalls, didn’t  
they? It was meant to be purifying.

The  
shower curtain was pushed back and Dilandau looked in.

‘Move  
over,’ he said, ‘I want to sluice off too.’ Pulling  
the curtain back over, he stepped over Van’s legs and under the  
spray, turning his face up to the water as if basking under it.

‘What’re  
you doing down there?’

‘I  
don’t know.’

‘What?’

‘I  
don’t know if we did the right thing.’ Van pushed his  
fingers back through his hair.

‘Jeez,  
Van,’ Dilandau said, looking down at him irritably. ‘Don’t  
borrow trouble. Look, you got laid and you really enjoyed it. So why’re  
you bitching?’ He took the soap and started lathering his arms.

‘It’s  
not that simple.’

‘It  
 _is_ lang=EN-GB> simple. You just want to make it complicated because you  
think being unhappy makes you deep or something. Like your brother  
glooming around with his teardrop. That’s the kind of thing  
really _boring_ lang=EN-GB> people do in an effort to seem interesting.’

‘Could  
you just leave Folken out of it? Besides which he _is_

deep. He’s a genius.’

‘If  
he is, it’s not a _result_ of  
going round feeling sorry for himself.’ Dilandau winced in  
anticipation as soapsuds trickled between his buttocks, but relaxed  
as he realised it didn’t sting. Reaching back, he explored the  
cleft with his fingertips, curiously, and felt a little warm leakage  
as he pressed.

‘You’re  
dripping out of me. Want to lick me clean?’ He turned, parting  
his buttocks with his hands, offering himself to Van. There was no  
reply.

‘Oh,  
for God’s sake,’ Dilandau said impatiently, turning round  
again and sitting down facing Van. ‘Are you going to sit there  
and sulk?’

‘I’m  
not sulking.’

‘This  
is pretty bloody insulting to me, you know. You could show some  
consideration.’

‘For  
you?’

‘Well,  
yeah! Didn’t I just give you my cherry? Try and _look_ lang=EN-GB> grateful.’

‘It  
was the first time for me too, you know.’

‘Yeah.  
So, do you see me hiding from you and acting like I don’t want  
to touch you?’ Looking up, Van was surprised to realise that  
Dilandau looked hurt.

‘I  
didn’t mean it like that.’

‘ _You’re_ lang=EN-GB> wondering if you did the right thing? I’ve got to  
wonder that too, you know. You’re not the only one with big  
weird scary problems. I just found out I’m two people. And I  
haven’t got a clue why I turn into Celena, or where she comes  
from, or why she’s so different from me, or what.’

‘I’m  
sorry, Dilandau.’

‘Yeah.  
Well. Good.’

There  
was a pause. Not knowing quite why, Van began to chuckle.

‘What?’

‘Do  
you think we might be, officially, the two most fucked-up people on  
the _Vione?’_ lang=EN-GB>

Dilandau  
started to laugh too. ‘Speak for yourself, demon boy.’

Van splashed water from the floor at him, and he retaliated by  
shooting the slippery soap out from between his hands, hitting Van in  
the chest. This provoked a small water-splashing war which escalated  
until they were both helpless with laughter and had to call a  
cease-fire to recover.

‘Hey,  
Van.’

‘What?’

‘Chocolate-covered  
cherry.’ Dilandau grinned and stuck his tongue out.

‘You’re  
disgusting,’ Van said, giggling weakly.

‘And  
 _you_ lang=EN-GB> want me.’

‘Of  
course I do.’ Calming a little, Van rose on his knees, reaching  
out to smooth the wet tendrils of Dilandau’s hair back from his  
forehead. ‘You know, when your hair’s wet, it goes a  
little curly. You look a bit like Celena.’

‘Van?’

‘Yes?’

‘Do  
you think Celena’s pretty?’

‘She’s  
beautiful.’

‘Good.’  
Dilandau blushed with pleasure. ‘I mean – I wouldn’t  
want her letting the side down.’

‘I  
wouldn’t have believed it, but you’re actually a little  
bit cute.’ He kissed Dilandau’s lips, softly. Gentle  
hands pushed Dilandau’s knees apart, letting him lean in closer  
to his body.

‘Of  
course I’m _cute_ . C’mere.’  
These were delicate, deliberate kisses, as they tasted and savoured  
one another. Van could feel himself growing aroused again, wanting  
the boy whose slick-wet skin he stroked. As he pressed closer,  
sliding forward on his knees, the tips of their stiffening cocks  
bumped together.

‘Kiss  
kiss,’ said Dilandau, looking down and smiling. He began to  
play with Van’s foreskin, sliding it up and down, pulling it  
out over the tip. Van moaned softly, biting his lip in delight,  
watching Dilandau’s slender white fingers working him.

‘I’m  
so sad I never had one of these to play with,’ Dilandau  
whispered.

‘You’ve  
got everything I want to play with.’ Van shuffled back, bowing  
down between Dilandau’s thighs.

‘You’re...’

‘I’m  
being considerate, like you wanted.’ He kissed the exposed,  
ruddy head of Dilandau’s cock, slowly and gently taking it into  
his mouth a tiny bit at a time. Dilandau whimpered, pushing up to  
him; Van held his hips down and drew his mouth back a little, warning  
him not to push his luck. Revelling in the sound of Dilandau’s  
smothered moans, he took his cock deeper, deeper, feeling the tip  
bump the back of his mouth, then drawing back to run his tongue over  
the area just under the head where he especially liked to touch  
himself. It seemed to work for Dilandau too, to judge by his urgent  
little grunt and the tremor that went through him.

_The  
King of Fanelia, sucking dick. It can’t be real, it can’t  
be me. It’s what I want to be, when I’m like this  
anyway._ It was an awkward position,  
kneeling on the shower floor, head down and ass high up. As he sucked  
the thick heat filling his mouth, he felt Dilandau’s hands move  
from his hair to his shoulders, stroking up the curve of his back to  
spread and squeeze his buttocks. A fingertip sliding down the divide,  
finding and probing his tight-puckered anus. He growled in his  
throat, sending a delicious vibration into Dilandau’s throbbing  
cock, making the pale boy shiver and gasp. That impudent finger  
penetrated deeper and his growl deepened too as sweet sharp pleasure  
shot into him. He lost all thought of technique and simply sucked as  
hard as he could, rewarded in a few seconds by a sharp jerk of  
Dilandau’s hips and a thick salty spurt in his mouth, gushing  
strongly for a moment before tapering off to a dribble. Dilandau’s  
hand slipped away, falling limply to the floor. Van slowly drew back,  
his lips pursed together and his mouth full. Dilandau was leaning  
weakly against the shower wall, his head lolling back, eyes  
half-closed and lips half-open as he gasped in the sweet  
semi-conscious backwash of pleasure following orgasm. Van cupped his  
chin and kissed his mouth, deeply, releasing his mouthful of hot  
come, feeling Dilandau half-gag, startled, so that the salty milk  
escaped the corners of their lips and ran down over their chins.  
After a long, breathless moment, Van released him, breathing heavily.

‘I’ve  
wanted to do _that_ to you, too.’

‘Oh  
– oh God...’

‘I  
 _love_ lang=EN-GB> seeing you with a faceful of cream, Dilandau. Yours or  
mine, doesn’t matter. It looks so good on you.’ Another  
deep kiss, delighting in the suppressed quiver of humiliated  
indignation he felt in Dilandau, loving the knowledge that he was  
restraining himself because he was so desperate for what Van could do  
to him.

‘Turn  
round now, sweetie. Time for my pleasure.’ Moving in a daze,  
Dilandau turned, adopting Van’s former position on his knees  
and elbows, his rump up in the air. Van spread his buttocks apart and  
let the shower play on his reddened anus, little needles of water  
drumming on the taut skin.style="mso-spacerun: yes">  After a moment he bent and  
licked it softly.

‘Mmm...  
you’re still nice and slippery... I won’t bother soaping  
you up.’ Taking his thick, red cock in his hand, Van pushed it  
deep into Dilandau’s rear, cramming himself in against muscular  
resistance. Dilandau gave a sharp little gasp, slipping forward, his  
cheek pressed against the cool hard slate of the wall, his neck bent  
at an uncomfortable angle.

‘Ohhh...  
oh, that’s so good... you must have been made to take me,  
Dilandau.’ Van drew slowly back and thrust in again. ‘Just  
for me...’ He began to pump harder, faster, heedless of  
anything but the delicious hot friction and squeezing all along his  
throbbing shaft. Dilandau was groaning, gasping, pushing back against  
him.

‘Van...  
oh God, Van... Van-sa – aah!’ Van laughed softly to hear  
Dilandau trying to bite back the honorific, turn it into just a  
wordless cry. His cries were growing louder, punctuated by Van’s  
deep breathy grunts.

‘Keep  
it down.’

‘I  
– I can’t – caaaan’t – aaah!  
 _Aaaaah!_ lang=EN-GB>’ Dilandau bucked wildly backward, slamming Van back  
against the opposite wall, rearing up to brace his arms against the  
wall before him as he screamed aloud. _‘Van-sama! Van! Oh  
God, oh God, oh...’_lang=EN-GB> He almost choked as Van’s forearm blocked his mouth  
again, the other side this time, and bit down gratefully, his eyes  
watering as Van thrust again and again and again, reaching orgasm  
just as he thought he could no longer bear the burning. As Van’s  
body relaxed, they sank down in a tangle to the wet floor. Vaguely,  
Dilandau reached down to his third erection of the night, swollen  
perversely in response to what had almost been more pain than  
pleasure. He stroked himself gently, rhythmically, and felt release,  
relief, a thin squirt of white, almost exhausted.

‘Next  
time,’ Van said behind him, ‘we’ll have to find you  
something to bite that isn’t _me.’_   
He gave Dilandau’s ass one more firm stroke and pulled out,  
satisfied. ‘I noticed I was Van-sama again.’

‘I  
can _hear_ lang=EN-GB> you grinning.’

‘I  
do that when I’m very well pleased.’ Van kissed his  
shoulder. ‘Good boy. You didn’t make _much_   
of a fuss.’

‘I...  
I couldn’t help it... you were fucking me so hard...’

‘But  
that’s how you need to be fucked.’ His voice was gentle,  
reasonable, still full of that gloating smile.

‘Mmm...’

‘Tell  
me you love it.’

‘I  
love it... love how you fuck me...’ Dilandau’s face was  
already red with heat, from exertion and from the warm water, but he  
felt himself blush deeper at that admission.

‘ _Good_ lang=EN-GB> boy.’ Van gave him a friendly pat on the backside. ‘Let  
me just scrub my dick off and we can go back to bed.’ He turned  
away, searching for the soap on the shower floor.

Feeling  
quite faint, Dilandau crawled out of the shower and pulled down a  
towel from the rail before pulling himself up to his feet by the same  
bar. _I should be so mad at him... but I loved it. I loved  
everything. I must be going insane._lang=EN-GB> He kept leaning against the wall while he dried himself,  
because his legs felt so weak and shaky, but somehow that was a  
pleasure too. _I have just been completely, totally_ fucked. _  
By my demon lover, my demon king. He just... he takes me over... he  
takes control..._ As an afterthought, he  
wiped the watery traces of come from his chin before dropping the  
towel and making his way back to fall on the bed. Van returned a  
short time later, apparently as invigorated as he was exhausted,  
briskly towelling down his hair.

‘Move  
over,’ he said cheerfully, snapping the damp towel at Dilandau’s  
behind. Obedient for the moment, Dilandau rolled over against the  
wall and made room for him.

‘And  
come back and cuddle me, like a good boy.’

It  
felt weird to put his arms around Van and lie there with his head on  
his shoulder, feeling Van stroke his back as he lay gazing up at the  
ceiling, humming softly. He couldn’t remember ever getting so  
close to another human being except to fight or to fuck (at least,  
intending to fuck – he felt a twinge of contempt for himself,  
thinking of his failure with Chesta). It felt wrong somehow.

‘This  
is what I wanted to do with Celena,’ Van said contentedly, and  
then it made sense. Dilandau lifted his head, hesitantly.

‘Do  
you – do you want Celena next? I could... could try to find her  
for you.’

‘No...  
no, right now I really like Dilandau.’ Van smiled down at him  
and he felt strangely flustered.

‘Um.  
All right.’ He lowered his head again, shutting his eyes to  
avoid Van’s gaze. _I... I felt so good when he said that. Oh,  
for God’s sake, boy, don’t get sentimental. It’s  
fucking. It Is Only Fucking. He doesn’t _ care __

about you. Look how he slammed your ass in the shower.

_It’s  
just lucky for him I like that._

‘Does  
it feel like we did the right thing this time?’ he asked  
cautiously.

‘For  
the moment. For the moment it feels like we did.’

Gradually,  
as they lay in silence, Dilandau began to feel that he was  
recovering. The burning in his rectum diminished, and his limbs felt  
less weak. Van felt very relaxed, very warm, his breathing slow and  
deep and sleepy. _Are we going to sleep together all night? Wake up  
together?_ Dilandau tried to disengage  
himself from Van’s arms and sit up.

‘Wh’s  
wrong?’ Van held him, drowsily.

‘I  
think I should go back to the dorm.’

‘Don’t  
you like this?’

‘I  
just think it’s better if I’m there in the morning. You  
said you don’t want people to know what we’re doing.’

‘Damn’  
right,’ said Van with a lazy grin. ‘You think I want  
people to know I’m fucking _you?’_

‘Half  
this fortress would give their eye teeth to do what you just did,’  
Dilandau said coldly, pulling away.

‘I  
was only joking.’

‘Ha  
ha.’ He swung his legs over the side of the bed and felt on the  
floor for his clothes... Celena’s clothes.

‘I  
can’t go back wearing these.’ He crumpled the dress  
between his hands, helplessly.

‘Go  
back naked. Give the boys a thrill.’

‘Don’t  
be stupid.’

‘Don’t  
worry about it.’ Van got up from the bed and ambled over to the  
closet, taking out the black silk dressing-gown. ‘Would this  
suit you to go back in?’

Dilandau  
blinked. ‘Do you mean it?’

‘Well,  
yes. I hung it up in here once it was clean so no more  
 _accidents_ lang=EN-GB> would happen to it... but it’s fine for you to wear  
it with my permission.’

Dilandau  
approached him slowly, still wondering if there was a catch. Van held  
out the robe for him to put his arms through the sleeves, then,  
standing behind him, wrapped it around his body, tying the sash for  
him.

‘It  
suits you.’

‘I  
know.’ Dilandau fingered the lapel, feeling the texture of the  
embroidery. ‘Um... thank you.’

‘Don’t  
get it dirty, now,’ Van murmured in his ear, ‘unless you  
let me watch. Say yes, Van-sama.’

‘Yes,  
Van... sama.’

‘Gets  
easier every time, doesn’t it?’

‘I  
am _not_ lang=EN-GB> calling you that in front of anyone.’

‘Just  
so long as you call me that when it counts...’ Van kissed his  
neck, softly nipping.

‘What’ll  
we do with Celena’s things?’

‘Leave  
them here. You’re going to wear them for me again.’

‘Oh.’

‘No,  
the answer is...’ He paused, expectantly.

‘Yes,  
Van-sama.’

‘Very,  
very good.’ Another nibbling kiss. ‘Are you sure you want  
to go?’

‘I  
think I’d better.’

‘All  
right. I’ll see you at breakfast. Save a seat for me, hmm?’

‘Yes,  
Van-sama.’

‘I  
 _love_ lang=EN-GB> hearing you say that.’ His arms unwound from  
Dilandau’s waist, freeing him.

‘All  
right, then. Um – bye.’ Dilandau hurried out of the room,  
feeling that it was not the world’s most graceful exit, but  
somehow relieved to get away. In the chill of the corridor, he hugged  
the soft silk around him.

Okay... home.


	22. Chapter 22

After returning from Folken's room that morning, Chesta managed to  
doze a little, but kept half-waking, feeling ill at ease. He had  
deliberately not asked any questions about Dilandau-sama last night,  
wanting to show good faith, and to his frustration and distress  
Folken had not brought the subject up either. His attention had been  
entirely for Chesta, which was nice, certainly, but made Chesta feel  
guilty and keyed-up when his own mind kept jumping to worrying about  
someone else. They had tried to make love very gently and it hadn't  
worked; it had just hurt too much, less because of the healing injury  
and more because he was so tense. Then he could see Folken feeling  
guilty, which made everything worse. It wasn't that there had been no  
pleasure in the night at all, since they were certainly more  
resourceful than to be stumped by a temporary ban on penetration, and  
it wasn't that he hadn't felt happy to be with Folken; it was just  
that there was so much that they couldn't touch on, so much that they  
were both consciously trying to keep away from.

 _It will get better,_ he told himself. _You've just had a  
near bust-up, and of course it takes a little while for things to get  
comfortable again after that. And once you're okay physically that  
will make a big difference; he'll hate himself a little less. I hope.  
I wish I could make things better for him, my poor screwed-up  
Folken-sama! I suppose at first I thought that just to be loved  
enough would fix him and if it didn't that meant I wasn't  
loving him enough but there's so much that's hurt in him that I  
can't heal. I just have to be good to him, and strong for him  
and remember that there might be a point where I have to abandon  
ship. No. No, I don't want to think of that, I don't want to make it  
come true. _

Some minutes before the rising-bell would ring to wake them, he  
found himself wide awake with only these thoughts for company. Dalet  
was sleeping peacefully in the next bed, hugging his pillow; everyone  
was asleep, a still softly-breathing figure in every bed.

 _Except Dilandau-sama's bed. I wish he were here with us. I wish  
things were normal. But I've done everything I can for him, and it's  
not enough unless I try to, I don't know, kill Van-sama to save  
him. Which I can't do, because firstly I can't hurt Folken's brother,  
and secondly I can't kill someone in cold blood. I'm a soldier, not a  
murderer. I wish I could look over there and see the curtains drawn  
on the big red bed and know he was in there _His eyes  
involuntarily went to the bed, and he started up with a gasp of  
surprise.

'Dilandau-sama!'

'Wha?' Dalet opened one eye.

'Dilandau-sama's back!' Chesta cried, joy and bewilderment  
overwhelming him. Around the dormitory boys were sitting up to give  
him sleepy, irritable looks that turned curiously to the curtained  
bed. The curtains were not drawn; thus they could see the slender  
figure stretched out on the quilt. At Chesta's first exclamation he  
had raised himself on one elbow, his head propped on his hand, and  
was looking coldly at the boy.

'Chesta,' he said, 'if you _ever_ disturb me before the bell  
again, I'll cut your ears off. It's just lucky for you I'm in a good  
mood this morning.'

'I'm sorry, Dilandau-sama, but I'm so surprised and happy to see  
you back! When &endash when you were taken ill, Folken-sama said you  
would need a few days to recover.'

'Well, he underestimated me, didn't he?' Dilandau sat up and  
stretched. 'If I have to wake up you all do. Gatti, give Biore a  
kick, he still looks comfortable.' He dropped his arms and looked  
around the dormitory. 'What're you all staring at? You've seen me  
first thing in the morning before.'

'Uh, I was just thinking that's a, a nice dressing-gown you've got  
on, Dilandau-sama' Migel said.

'Compliments won't save you from having to get up,' Dilandau said  
dryly, 'but thanks. It is nice. Go on. All of you, out of bed and get  
your clothes on. If you object to an early start, take it up with  
&endash or out on &endash Chesta. But you'll have to wait a minute,  
because I want to talk to him first. C'mere, Chesta.' He beckoned,  
then, as an afterthought, added 'And you too, Dalet.'

They approached the bed, where he was still sitting in the middle  
of the quilt.

'Come in here and draw the curtains. I want to talk to you  
alone.'

Dalet shot Chesta a Look; _don't worry, I'll protect you._  
Chesta pulled the cord that closed the curtains around the bed,  
enclosing them in a crimson tent. Unsure of how to proceed in a  
setting like this, the two of them knelt at the end of the bed, heads  
bowed.

 _This feels like right after Fanelia, when we both got slapped  
for getting our asses kicked by Van, _Dalet reflected. _Hey, I  
never thought of that before! We were together then too. I wonder if  
that's destiny or something._

Dilandau regarded them both for a long moment without speaking,  
sitting casually with his legs crossed in front of him, leaning back  
on his hands.

'You were there too, weren't you, Dalet?' he said. 'I'm pretty  
sure I remember hearing your voice.'

'Yes, Dilandau-sama.'

'But no-one else?'

'No, Dilandau-sama. Except when Folken-sama came to get you  
&endash Chesta went for him. But no-one else came in or saw you.'  
There was another long pause, during which they could hear only the  
sounds of the others getting dressed, the squeaks and clinks of  
leather and armour being drawn on.

'So,' said Dilandau, quite casually, 'what did you see?'

They glanced at each other guiltily, Dalet blushing.

'Your your body changed,' Chesta said hesitantly.

'Go on. I can't remember this stuff very well, so I want your  
report. What did you see?'

'I &endash I didn't see that part, I was looking for Folken-sama.  
Dalet did.'

'Dalet?'

'You, um, you seemed to have a sort of a fit,' Dalet said, looking  
determinedly at the bedspread so as not to meet Dilandau's eyes, 'and  
your body started to turn into a girl's. It turned about halfway  
before the fit passed off. Like a hermaphrodite. Dilandau-sama.'

'Are you calling me a hermaphrodite?'

'No, Dilandau-sama!' Dalet said earnestly. 'That's just &endash  
just a comparison.'

'You said my body started to change. Did my face change too?'

'No your face was normal. That's all I saw.'

'Hmm.' Dilandau looked preoccupied for a moment, as though that  
was a puzzling variation on what he'd expected to hear. 'Anything  
else?' He turned to Chesta, raising one eyebrow.

'Not much, Dilandau-sama. Then I came back with Folken-sama and he  
took you away for treatment. We &endash we covered for you. We  
didn't say anything to the others, just what Folken-sama told us to  
say, about how you'd be back in a few days.'

'Uh-huh.' Dilandau regarded them both in silence again. Chesta  
tried to shift his position without looking as if he were doing so,  
because his bottom ached; Dalet tried not to think of breasts.

'I don't suppose I need to tell you that if you mention any of  
this to anyone, your lives, short as they'll be, won't be worth  
living.'

'No, Dilandau-sama.' They spoke together.

'Good. I don't feel like killing anyone today.' Chesta looked up  
and was startled to see Dilandau-sama was smiling. He kept his face  
politely neutral and submissive, but in his heart he smiled back for  
all he was worth. _Oh, he's_ okay! _I don't know what the hell  
is going on, but he's okay!_

'We're _so_ glad you're better already, Dilandau-sama,' he  
said fervently.

'What'd you do without me?'

'Well, Migel took over &endash just to take us through your  
routine,' Dalet said. 'I bet he'll be relieved you're in charge  
again.'

'He'd better be. I don't want anyone getting ideas above their  
station round here.' It was remarkable, Chesta thought, how relaxed  
Dilandau-sama looked, too. As if a weight had been lifted from his  
shoulders, or he had just stopped worrying about something.

'That really is a nice dressing-gown, Dilandau-sama,' he said  
boldly. 'Is it new?'

'It's a souvenir,' said Dilandau, with an I've-got-a-secret smile.  
'Now stop asking impertinent questions and get dressed. You're  
dismissed.'

'Thank you, Dilandau-sama.' They crept out from under the curtains  
and exchanged puzzled looks.

'Van-sama's?' Dalet whispered very quietly.

'I know,' Chesta agreed, in a murmur. The conversation got no  
further, as Chesta was set upon by Gatti, Biore and Guimel, who  
wanted to express their gratitude for the early wake-up call. Then  
the rising-bell rang and morning routine went on. Neither of them  
dared call attention to themselves by trying to drop back on the walk  
to breakfast, so they had no opportunity to discuss the new  
developments. It was not just that the other boys might remark upon  
it, but Dilandau-sama seemed full alert and on the ball once more,  
and would almost certainly call them on it. They all trooped in to  
the dining hall, where Van was already sitting at the table. Dilandau  
stopped at the sight of him, and the Dragonslayers stiffened,  
wondering if sparks were going to fly yet again.

'I thought you told me to save a seat for you,' Dilandau said.

'Well, whichever of us got here first,' Van said, shrugging. 'I  
saved one for you.' He patted the seat of the chair beside him. The  
baffled looks were flying between Dragonslayers now. Throughout  
breakfast, the air almost buzzed with the energy of fifteen brains  
trying desperately to figure out what was going on. They didn't seem  
mad at each other. There was some tension there, on a level most of  
them didn't quite understand, but somehow they seemed pleased with  
how things were going. They talked during breakfast, about what  
they'd have for breakfast if they had a choice. No-one else quite  
dared speak. Chesta put his food away without tasting it, intently  
watching Dilandau-sama's face. At one point, for no obvious reason,  
he seemed to blush, very slightly. Dropping his fork, Chesta leaned  
under the table and discovered to his astonishment that there was a  
game of footsie going on under there. Up top, Van was calmly holding  
forth on his favourite way for eggs to be prepared, while he rubbed  
the inner curve of his instep up and down Dilandau's calf, and  
&endash yes &endash Chesta thought he could make out a little glint  
of enjoyment in his eye, enjoyment of touching Dilandau and  
flustering him secretly.

 _Good God. Good God! This is getting_ very _strange. And  
Dilandau-sama's _letting _him. While they both act like there's  
nothing going on. Does Folken-sama know about this? Should I tell  
him? Does he even know Dilandau-sama's back? This isn't what he said  
would happen._

After breakfast, they assembled in the training hall, where Van  
casually suggested to Dilandau that they might do some work on  
unarmed combat this morning. Everyone waited for Dilandau-sama to  
tell him to piss off and not interfere. He agreed.

'B-but, Dilandau-sama unarmed combat? That's not what we  
usually do,' Biore said, startled into speaking up.

'All the more reason to practise,' Dilandau said briskly. 'You  
can't guarantee you'll always face an enemy in your guymelef, or even  
with a sword in your hand. You've got to be able to defend yourself  
in any situation. Get out the mats.' As they obeyed he shelled off  
his jacket and swordbelt. 'And strip down to your shirts. Pair up.  
Leftover person join a pair to make three.'

'So,' said Van, unzipping his jacket, running his eyes, if not his  
hands, over Dilandau's body, Chesta noticed, 'I take it we're looking  
at what to do if someone unexpectedly jumps you?'

'You've had some experience with that recently,' Dilandau said,  
smirking. 'Do you want to take the lead?'

'All right. I'll show you a little of how we wrestle in Fanelia.  
The rest of you, watch and copy.'

The first moves were pretty standard and easy to follow. Dalet and  
Chesta had automatically paired up together, and were expending most  
of their energy on observation. Looking up from a rather half-hearted  
headlock, Chesta distinctly saw Van's hand pass up under Dilandau's  
shirt.

 _I can't believe he's feeling him up right in front of us.  
Dilandau-sama looks embarrassed. What's he going to do?_

'If you've warmed up,' Van said, 'maybe we could try something  
more intense.' The next moment Dilandau was face-down with an arm  
twisted up behind him and Van's knee firmly planted in the small of  
his back.

'I've showed you this one before, Dilandau, you might remember,'  
Van was saying casually, 'but the rest of you should get a good look  
at it. You'll see there's no way he can get out of it. I can do  
whatever I want with him.'

'Do you think so?' Dilandau asked, a little breathlessly.

'I think so,' Van said, gently bouncing on his knee.

In a blur of movement, and to Van's obvious shock, Dilandau broke  
the hold and almost managed to reverse their positions before he  
regained mastery. The contest was on in earnest now, and the two of  
them rolled over the floor in a straining tangle of limbs.

 _I knew Dilandau-sama wouldn't put up with that stuff. He's  
going to go nuts. Should I &endash can I try to break it up? Could I  
even get in there? _Chesta stared at the pair, feeling Dalet's  
hold loosen. Around the room the more dutiful were trying to still  
act like this was a regular training session, but most people were  
giving up any pretence of wrestling and just gawping.

With a _thwap_ , Van slammed Dilandau back against the met,  
pinning his arms and glaring down into his face. They were both  
sweating and breathing heavily; the whole atmosphere around Dilandau  
seemed to be scented with Van's musk. There was nothing, nothing in  
the world but those eyes, those lips, that body, hot muscular weight  
holding him down. Someone coughed nervously, reminding him that okay,  
there was _something_ , but it was definitely not as  
interesting.

'Uhh you lot you can go shower,' he said vaguely,  
waving a dismissive hand as well as he could given Van's grip on his  
wrist. 'Extra rest period today. It's a treat. Go on. Get out.'

They remained frozen, staring.

'You heard Dilandau,' Van said, without looking at them, holding  
Dilandau pinned with his gaze as much as with his body. 'Go on.'

With a great many backward glances, the Dragonslayers gathered up  
their shed jackets and swords and filed out of the hall. Once in the  
locker room, they stood in a bunch and stared at each other,  
bewildered.

'What do we do now?' Gatti asked.

'You heard Dilandau-sama,' Migel said dutifully. 'We can  
shower.'

'Oh, listen to Mister Leader Man,' said Biore sarcastically. 'I  
haven't even broken a sweat. There's no point. You know they just  
sent us out so they can you know.'

'You're not _serious_ , are you?'

A babble of voices briefly broke out before everyone abruptly  
remembered that Van and Dilandau might be able to hear them if they  
spoke loudly, and shut up.

'Of course I'm _serious,_ ' Biore whispered furiously.

'You can't be sure of that,' retorted Chesta, loyal to the end,  
although he was of exactly the same opinion, and had seen more  
evidence than Biore.

'We can prove it,' said Gatti, grabbing a mouthwash glass from  
beside the sinks and kneeling down by the closed door. He put the  
glass against the door and his ear against the glass. 'I should be  
able to hear whatever they're doing. Everyone shut up.'

Although Migel looked indignant, everyone was quiet as almost a  
minute passed. Gatti bit his lip and blushed.

'Well?' said Guimel impatiently. 'What can you hear?'

'Um, so far, a lot of thumping around, like they're still  
wrestling,' Gatti said.

'And maybe they just are,' Chesta said primly. Dalet gave him a  
poke in the ribs and a come-off-it look.

'And and noises like kissing,' Gatti went on. He kissed the  
back of his hand, rather loudly and wetly, to demonstrate.

'Oh my God,' said someone at the back.

'And and voices I can't make out exactly what they're  
saying, they're talking pretty low. But it sounds like Van's  
asking questions and Dilandau's answering him.'

'Dilandau- _sama,'_ Chesta corrected him, completely ignored  
by everyone in the room.

'They're, um, they're getting noisier,' Gatti said, and the sound  
of voices was now faintly audible in the locker room. Gatti's cheeks  
were bright red by this time; so were plenty of other faces.

'What are they _doing?'_ Guimel asked, biting his thumb.

'I can't give you _specifics!'_ Gatti snapped back,  
flustered. 'There's there's kind of a rhythm in the noises  
now.'

'Oh my _God,'_ said the person at the back.

'And'

Gatti fell back, clutching the ear that had been pressed to the  
glass, and everyone jumped, as Dilandau's unmistakable voice tore the  
air in full cry.

'Van &endash Van-sama! _Van-samaaa!_ Van-sa-mmph!' The  
screams stopped as abruptly as they had started. There was a ringing  
silence in the locker-room.

'Well, what are we all doing standing round here with our mouths  
open?' Migel said gruffly. 'This is our rest period. I'm not hanging  
around to listen to that, and anyone who does is sick.' He left the  
room hastily, banging the door to the dorm behind him. A number of  
people followed him in rather a hurry, leaving only the core group  
clustered round the door. After a moment Guimel began to look  
sheepish and scurried off too.

'Are you okay?' Biore asked Gatti, who had stuck his index finger  
in his ear and was wiggling it a bit desperately.

'I'll be fine,' he replied, rather loudly. 'My God, he's  
noisy!'

'At least they're having fun,' said Dalet, with a weak giggle.

'Oh, like you and Chesta?' Biore said nastily.

'Just shut up, Biore. Chesta and I are friends and only friends.  
You know, they say people who make the biggest show of hating fags  
are secretly fags themselves.'

'I don't _hate_ fags,' said Biore, looking embarrassed. 'I  
mean I mean, the body's a mansion, right, and if some of the  
lads want to use the tradesmen's entrance, it's no skin off _my_  
nose it's just weird knowing that about Dilandau-sama.'

'I didn't know you thought that,' Gatti said, surprised. 'You  
really don't care?'

Dalet burst out laughing.

'What?' snapped Gatti.

'You sounded so _hopeful!'_ Dalet gasped. 'Have you got  
something you want to tell us? Or Biore?'

'I have not,' said Gatti, pink in the face and scrambling to his  
feet. 'We're not like that! Right, Biore? We were just &endash just  
practising for girls!'

'Oh my _God!'_ exclaimed Dalet, and laughed so hard Chesta  
had to hold him up, although he was having trouble keeping a straight  
face too. Biore punched Gatti in the arm.

'Dickhead! You said you wouldn't _tell_ anyone!'

'You started it!' Gatti replied, holding his arm. 'And anyway I  
don't see how me sucking you off is practice for girls. Not for me,  
anyway.'

'Shut up, shut up, shut up!' Biore was nearly in tears.

'I'm telling you, Chess,' Dalet said, wiping his eyes, 'everyone.  
Every-fucking-one!'

 

Chesta hurried along the corridors, giggles still sometimes  
escaping as he remembered Biore and Gatti's faces. He and Dalet had  
sworn to keep the secret (without telling Biore and Gatti any of  
their own secrets &endash it seemed much smarter, as well as more  
fun, to keep something to hold over their heads for the moment)  
before returning to the dorm, where everyone was sitting around  
aimlessly in a high state of tension, which diminished slightly once  
Gatti got a card game started. After a hasty whispered consultation,  
it was decided between the two of them that Chesta would take this  
opportunity to nip off and see Folken, just to make sure he was aware  
of all the facts and to ask if there was anything he wanted them to  
do. His heart was about a stone lighter knowing that Dilandau-sama  
was alive and well, but he couldn't quite be comfortable until all  
this was clear to him.

 _I don't even really know if he'll be in well, if he isn't  
I can leave a note. _He tapped at Folken's door, receiving no  
answer. Hesitantly, trying not to look as if he were doing anything  
he wasn't supposed to, in case someone should come along, he let  
himself in. The room looked much as normal, except that the desk was  
clear and Folken's cloak was not hanging by the wall.

Not completely clear &endash there was an envelope lying on the  
blotter. He went over to inspect it and found it was addressed to  
him: C. Caravel, PRIVATE. Startled, he ripped it open and unfolded  
the single sheet of notepaper inside.

 _Dearest Chess,_

 _I know it seems reckless to leave you a note like this, but I  
don't expect anyone to come here but you (I've sent a separate  
message to Van, so he won't be calling) so it seems safe enough. I'm  
writing this in a tearing hurry having just been called back to the  
capital. Something has gone wrong with the main destiny devices and  
my presence is required to oversee adjustments and repairs. I'm sorry  
I have to leave without saying goodbye to you &endash without  
kissing you goodbye! &endash but it's extremely urgent. I will come  
back as soon as I can. Take good care of yourself while I'm gone. I  
love you. I will have something to tell you about Dilandau when I  
come back but for now don't worry about him, he'll be fine where he  
is. I love you! I can't stay any longer._

 _Yours always with all my heart, soul and body,_

 _FLF XXX_

Chesta sat down in Folken's chair, slowly refolding the note. It  
was the first piece of writing he'd had from Folken; he pressed the  
paper to his lips while he tried to think. It sounded as though  
Folken had no idea Dilandau was himself again. There was no way  
Chesta could contact him at such a distance without raising  
questions, and no way to ensure the privacy of any correspondence  
that passed through official channels. If there were unofficial  
channels, he hadn't a clue how you got into them. There was nothing  
he could do.

 _This is crazy. Oh, I hope he gets back soon!_

 

Dilandau lay quietly, Van stroking his back, and absent-mindedly  
picked at the tear his teeth had made in the cover of the exercise  
mat.

'Next time, try to get it in your mouth before you start  
screaming,' Van said, 'but otherwise, that was a big improvement.' He  
wrapped his arms around Dilandau, squeezing him close, and kissed the  
back of his neck. 'Mmm got you all to myself. I thought they'd  
never go.'

'Well, they do what they're told eventually' Dilandau  
murmured. 'And we can whip them back into shape. If you'll work with  
me.'

'I like working with you,' Van said, playing with Dilandau's hair  
at the nape of his neck. He used the side of his finger to stroke the  
short-cropped hair the wrong way, then smooth it down again.

'Of course, they're dumb, but not oblivious. They'll have worked  
out by now what we're doing.'

'Let 'em. They'll still obey. You and I'll see to that.'

'What if what if one of them tells on us? To your  
brother?'

'We can cross that bridge when we come to it,' Van replied, 'but  
we won't come to it for a while. I got a message from Folken this  
morning. He's had to go back to Zaibach to take care of some problem  
at the capital. And I don't really see any of them having the nerve  
to run to him.'

'Chesta did once. But I think I took care of him.'

'And Folken's in charge of us, so who else would they tell? I  
don't think they'll say anything. We don't need to be scared. In  
fact, if we act like we don't give a shit what they think &endash  
which I don't &endash it'll make them less likely to dare say  
anything. You're mine now. I'm not going to let them stop me enjoying  
you.' He blew on the back of Dilandau's neck, making him shiver with  
his hot breath. 'Nothing's going to stop me.'

'You really do sound like a demon king when you say things like  
that.'

 

It was a weird day for the Dragonslayers. No-one told them what to  
do. Dilandau never came back to the dorm. When lunchtime arrived,  
Migel, steeling himself, went and tapped on the door to the training  
hall. There was silence from within. He took a deep breath and opened  
the door. No-one. Just the exercise mats, a discarded, sweaty shirt,  
and &endash oh, _disgusting,_ a white pool of semen on the mat.  
They must have gone somewhere else. He hastily shut the door and  
returned to the dorm to tell the others that they would be going to  
lunch without Dilandau-sama.

'You okay?' Dalet asked him, coming up from behind as they walked.  
 _From behind_ Migel winced.

'I'm fine. It's stressful being in charge, that's all.'

'You're doing a good job,' Dalet said, reassuringly. 'Holding  
things together.'

'There's only so much I can do when our commanding officer behaves  
like _that,'_ Migel said bitterly.

'I know. If they're going to do that they should keep it  
private.'

'If they're going to do that!? Dalet, I can't believe they're  
doing it at all! It's so unnatural! It makes me feel sick just  
thinking about it.'

'Well that's what I mean, so they don't gross anyone out.'  
Dalet looked a little abashed.

'They've left their, their _mess_ in the training hall,'  
Migel said. 'I won't be able to go in there without thinking of what  
they must have _done.'_

'Listen, Mig don't worry about it. It's their problem. None  
of us is involved.'

'Well, it reflects on the rest of us.'

'I don't see how. I mean, you know you're all right, right?'

'Of course I am!'

'So don't worry about it.' Dalet paused a moment. 'Hey, if he  
doesn't come back this afternoon, what are we going to do?'

'I don't know yet. I'll work something out.'

'Maybe we could just have a holiday. I think it'd be good for  
everyone to relax. We could go to the pool and just splash around  
instead of swimming laps. The lads could let off some steam and take  
their minds off all this.'

'I guess that's a good idea,' Migel said reluctantly. 'But maybe  
he'll be back in the afternoon.'

He wasn't. Dalet's plan was adopted with enthusiasm. The

 _Vione_ 's severely oblong swimming pool was hardly designed for  
fun, but youthful high spirits (and a certain amount of  
tension-induced mild hysteria) made up the deficit. The tiled hall  
rang with shouts and laughter and splashing.

'This is why it's great to be Dragonslayers,' Dalet said, floating  
on his back. 'We can do stuff like this and no-one questions us.'

'Except Folken-sama, I guess,' Migel said, looking nervous at the  
thought. Dalet was sticking close to him, wanting to show support,  
and Chesta was doing the same to back Dalet up. He was a bit worried  
about him; it must really hurt his feelings every time Migel made  
some remark about how disgusting Van and Dilandau's relationship was.  
He still seemed to be trying to be friends.

'I heard that he's gone away,' Chesta chipped in. 'One of the  
servers at lunch told me. He had to go back to Zaibach for some  
special job for Lord Dornkirk. So the cat's away, and we mice can  
play.'

'Eek eek,' said Dalet. 'Come on, Mig, loosen up and have fun.  
We're on holiday.'

'Oh, wonderful,' said Migel, casting his eyes upward. 'So I've got  
no higher authority to appeal to. No-one to bring those two into  
line.'

'Migel,' said Chesta, warningly, 'if you don't stop worrying, we  
 _will_ have to duck you.'

'You can't duck me, I'm in command.'

'Only on your own authority,' Dalet said, grinning dangerously. 'I  
think we should duck him for being so presumptuous, Chess.'

'Don't you _dare,'_ said Migel, starting to laugh.

'Too late! We just did!' Dalet pounced.

 

They trooped back to the dormitory chlorine-scented and much more  
cheerful. After a brisk shower, which had no effect on the curious  
green colour Guimel's hair had turned in the pool water, Migel  
insisted that they were going to have a normal study period.

'We've had a holiday, not a complete breakdown of good order,' he  
said. 'We can't get sloppy. Oh and someone should clean up in  
the training hall' He blenched a little at the thought.

'I'll take care of that,' Chesta volunteered.

'Are you sure?' Migel said, in an undertone. 'It's a bit  
unsanitary in there.'

'I'll wear gloves,' Chesta assured him. Dalet tagged along to  
help, or rather to hang around making comments while Chesta  
worked.

'Join the army, they said, it's a man's life, they said &endash  
not one word about sponging spooge off crash-mats,' he said, lounging  
comfortably on the stack of mats they had already put together.

'Don't be gross,' Chesta muttered. He didn't particularly like  
this job; he'd volunteered to be nice to Migel, and because he knew  
he wasn't going to be stupid or squeamish about it. 'I think I've  
cleaned up all of it.' He dropped the sponge into the bucket and  
dragged the mat over to add to the stack.

'You'd think they'd make the effort to hide the evidence,' Dalet  
said, shifting to let him put the mat in place. 'You and'

'Sshh!' Chesta pinched him.

'Oh, come on. No-one's listening to us, and I'm talking quietly.  
You guys don't make a mess like this, do you?'

'Not habitually, now shush.'

'It's as if they want to show off about it,' Dalet said  
thoughtfully. 'It's hard to understand. I can't imagine wanting  
everyone to know about something that private and personal.'

'Yeah. You only tell everyone about your peculiar little vegetable  
experiments when you're drunk.'

'You can't hold that against me!' Dalet protested, colouring.

'Don't worry,' Chesta said, laughing. 'I won't tell the lovely  
Migel.'

'Sshh yourself. He might not ever be my boyfriend but I want to  
stay friends with him, at least.'

'But isn't that really hard on you? I mean, knowing how he  
feels?'

'Well you never know,' Dalet said, wistfully. 'He might  
change his mind. At least enough to know about me without hating me.  
I'm not kidding myself that he'll change teams, but he could get more  
tolerant.'

'Unless you're right and it's everyone. Could you _believe_

Biore and Gatti today?'

'I was kidding when I called them asshole buddies. I think I might  
be some sort of prophet.' Dalet put his forefingers to his temples  
and closed his eyes. 'The spirits are speaking to me from  
beyond the veil they speak the spirits say Biore likes to be  
called Big Daddy and spank Gatti wearing little leather shorts.'

'You charlatan,' Chesta said, snorting with laughter. 'Put a sock  
in it or I'll tip this unsanitary bucket over you.'

'Eughk! No!' Dalet dodged away. 'And now we have to go and study.'  
He pulled a face. 'I like him, but sometimes he's _too_  
dutiful.'

'I think he just doesn't know what else to do except be very  
rigid,' Chesta said. 'No double-entendre intended. I'll be happier  
once Dilandau-sama is back in charge.'

'Don't know if I will,' Dalet sighed. 'I liked today. We goofed  
off.'

'There _is_ a war on,' Chesta pointed out.

'Not that we've had anything to do with it for a long time,' Dalet  
said. 'Doesn't it sometimes feel to you like we've slipped loose from  
the rest of the world? It's a relief in some ways but it can be  
a bit spooky.'

'They must be keeping us back for strategic reasons,' Chesta said.  
'I'm sure Folken-sama could explain it all to us, if only he were  
here.'

Dalet patted his shoulder. 'Missing him?'

'I'll miss him most tonight. But it'll be all right. At least I'm  
not worrying about Dilandau-sama as well. We'd better put away the  
cleaning gear and go back.'

In the dormitory, things were not going terribly well. Several  
people were not reading prescribed texts, but had brought out  
magazines or books of their choice. Migel was going up and down the  
two lines of beds trying to confiscate them and making himself  
unpopular. He returned from the far end of the room to discover that  
Gatti and Biore had started a game of poker and were just dealing  
Guimel in.

'Cut that out,' he snapped. 'Would you do that if Dilandau-sama  
was here?'

'A,' said Gatti, without taking his eyes off his hand, 'he's not  
here, and B, would we care?'

'Do you just not _care_ any more about what he's done for  
you?' Migel asked. 'Do you not remember _any_ of how you used to  
feel? I remember you telling Van-sama off, saying how much you loved  
Dilandau-sama!'

'I don't love him like _Van_ loves him,' said Gatti, drawing  
an appreciative snigger from Biore. Migel threw down his armload of  
confiscated literature, exasperated.

'Do you think it's _clever_ to make dirty jokes?'

'Just ignore them, Mig,' said Dalet, laying a soothing hand on his  
arm.

'I can't ignore this kind of flagrant disobedience and  
insubordination. Dilandau-sama wouldn't.'

'Dilandau-sama,' said Biore, in a mocking, quacking voice.

'I wove Diwandau-thama,' lisped Gatti. Provoked, Migel tried to  
slap him as Dilandau would have done. Gatti glared at him  
resentfully, a hand pressed to his stinging cheek.

'Do you want a fight?' he asked.

'No, he doesn't,' Dalet said hastily.

'If I have to _beat_ you to make you listen to me'  
Migel sputtered. 'If I have to _be_ Dilandau'

'There's only one Dilandau,' said a languid voice behind him.  
'What's going on?' He whirled round to see Dilandau standing there,  
hands on hips, wearing just his pants and the black silk  
dressing-gown. Migel's face was a study, Dalet thought; he was torn  
between his ingrained love and respect and his new revulsion and  
contempt. There were purple love-bites all over Dilandau's neck, he  
noticed. And Van was standing behind him, one eyebrow raised  
sardonically. Migel blinked unhappily, backing away.

'Just a, a discipline problem,' he said, 'Dilandau-sama.'

'What's the problem, Gatti?' Dilandau asked, raising a lazy arm to  
rub the back of his neck.

'No problem,' Gatti said sullenly. Dilandau looked at him  
blankly.

'No problem?' His hand shot out like a striking white snake, and  
he caught Gatti's earlobe between his nails, pinching and  
twisting.

'Aah!'

'You didn't finish your sentence,' Dilandau said calmly, applying  
more pressure.

'N-no problem, Dilandau-sama,' Gatti gasped, with tears in his  
eyes.

'That's better. I can't imagine why you seem to be playing cards  
during silent study.'

'W-we were just putting them away, Dilandau-sama.'

'That's good,' said Dilandau, releasing him. 'Problem solved,  
Migel?'

'Yes. Thank you, Dilandau-sama.' Migel gave an odd little bob of  
the head, a half-bow, and walked away to sit on his bed.

'You manage them very well,' Van said to Dilandau, putting his  
arms around his waist from behind and kissing his shoulder through  
the silk.

'Yes, I do,' Dilandau said, reaching up and back to touch Van's  
hair. Not a single person in the room was comfortable looking at  
them, but not a single person felt able to look away. Van slipped one  
hand inside the front of the dressing-gown, stroking Dilandau's  
chest.

'I bet they wish we'd get a room,' he said, with a soft little  
laugh.

'I don't have a room,' Dilandau said. 'We'll have to get the next  
best thing.' He hooked a forefinger in Van's waistband and towed him  
over to the red four-poster, letting go to crawl up on the bed on all  
fours, looking back invitingly over his shoulder. Van followed with  
an eager bound, swishing the curtains shut behind him. He popped his  
head out for a moment.

'Evening, all.' Then he was gone and the only sound was a  
bedspring-jangling thump, some giggling and some growling.

'Oh, for God's sake,' Gatti muttered, rolling his eyes and  
gathering up the cards. 'What a performance.'

'To hell with it,' said Biore, 'if they can we can,' and kissed  
him. Cards went everywhere. Someone impressionable gasped; someone  
perverted whistled.

'I'm _not_ seeing this,' said Chesta, shaking his head, and  
fixed his eyes on a particularly dull chapter of _Philosophiae  
Naturalis Principia Mathematica._ Migel jumped up from his seat on  
the end of his bed and rushed out of the room.

'I'll just go and, um, go and see about Migel,' said Dalet, and  
hurried after him. Migel had a head start, but he could still hear  
the echoes of his footsteps, and was able to follow him. Turning a  
corner, he found Migel sitting hunched up in a recess under a window,  
the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes, breathing  
unsteadily, as if trying not to cry. He hesitated, not sure he was a  
near enough friend to butt in but if he didn't, who did Migel  
have who cared enough? He took a deep breath and walked over.

'Are you all right?' he asked.

Migel looked up with a sharp little gasp. He seemed to relax a  
little when he saw it was only Dalet.

'Yeah yeah, I'm all right.'

Dalet sat down beside him. 'If it helps, I think that whole  
business was completely uncalled-for too.'

'Gatti and Biore too?'

'Gatti and Biore are jerks. I have a feeling they'd be jerks even  
if they were straight.'

'There's just no getting _away_ from it.' Migel pushed a hand  
through his hair, wearily. 'God guys like that none of us  
is safe.'

'Migel, you're not in any danger. If you want me to watch your  
back I will, but I think they're fully occupied with each other.'

'No I mean I mean, I try so hard to keep myself safe  
from all that stuff.' He wiped his nose on his sleeve and looked  
embarrassed on top of miserable. 'I try so hard not to think about  
it, or look at anything that might make me think about it I  
don't want it to happen to me'

'What to happen to you?'

Migel dropped his head on his arms. 'You know. I don't want to go  
all fruity.'

Dalet stared at him for a moment, then started to laugh.

'What!?' Migel demanded indignantly.

'You don't _go_ fruity!'

'Y-yes, you do, there are all sorts of dangerous things

staying in dancing lessons too long after you're a kid, reading the  
wrong kinds of books, not playing sports, getting too attached to  
male friends'

'Nonsense. That's total rubbish. Don't you know? The sorcerers  
have done heaps of research about it, part of destiny studies, and  
they say it's genetic. You're either born that way or you're not.  
It's set from the time you're conceived. Nothing can _make_ you  
queer. Stop worrying!'

Migel's face fell further, if that were possible. 'But that means  
if you think you are there's nothing you can _do_ about it!' he  
cried in despair. 'And I don't want to be like them, I don't want to  
be all sleazy and disgusting and promiscuous and lurk in public  
toilets.'

Dalet blinked, confused. 'No-one's going to _make_ you.'

'But they can't control their urges. I would be like that  
too.'

'Ummmm no. No-one has to do any of that stuff. I mean, being  
homosexual isn't a choice, but what you do about it is. You can be,  
um, that way inclined and still live a perfectly decent honourable  
life. I think someone like you would &endash wait a second.' His  
heart had just given him quite a sharp kick, and his brain was  
offering another if he didn't smarten up and see what was right in  
front of his face. 'Are &endash are you saying you think you  
 _are?'_

'No!' Migel said, far too quickly. He seemed to realise that he  
didn't sound very plausible. After a moment he said, very guardedly,  
'What if I were?'

'It wouldn't bother me,' said Dalet, perfectly truthfully if a  
little misleadingly. He was a bit astonished at the enormity of the  
understatement. 'I would still feel the same way about you. I like  
you, I always have. It's only just lately that I've gotten sure  
enough of myself to realise it's not disloyal to Dilandau-sama to  
make friends properly with others in the group.'

'That's why you and Chesta are thick as thieves lately?'

'Yes.' Dalet clasped his hands together round his knees, trying to  
keep them still. He was hideously nervous; he wanted to be the wise  
friend Migel needed, catch him at this turning point he seemed to be  
at and help him go in the right direction, but it meant so much to  
him that he was afraid he would fumble. It had been so much easier to  
have a heart-to-heart with Chesta, who he liked but didn't fancy.  
'Um, are you sure you don't think you might be a little  
bit'

'Maybe a little bit,' Migel said slowly, looking frightened at the  
admission. 'I &endash I mean, perhaps it's just because there are no  
girls around.'

'It doesn't really work like that. If you like girls, you like  
 _girls_. And we do see them every day, in the mess hall, or if  
we go to sickbay, even if we don't socialise with them.'

'Oh, God,' said Migel, hiding his face in his hands. 'Oh God oh  
God oh God. It's all happening like he told me it would.'

'Who told you?'

'Father. He warned me when I first went to boarding school. You've  
got to be so careful at an all-boys school! You know some of  
the older boys will want to play secret touching games, things like  
that you can't let them! It could ruin you!'

'What, like you might find out you like it?' Dalet asked,  
nonplussed.

'You can't tell anyone!' Migel said, with savage, panicky  
intensity.

'I'd never repeat something you told me in private,' Dalet said, a  
little offended. 'Especially not something this private.'

'I'm not saying anything!'

'But it's all _right.'_

'I know, I know, you're being very decent about it, but'

'No, I mean it's all right to feel that way. There's nothing wrong  
with it.'

'You're joking,' said Migel numbly.

'I'm dead serious. You can stop worrying about it. You're a nice  
person, Migel. You're not going to suddenly turn into a pervy monster  
just because you admit to yourself you like boys. I'm sure your dad  
meant well warning you, and he was right to say you shouldn't let  
older boys take advantage of you but as for the rest of it, he  
was all wrong.'

'H-how would you know?'

'Well, do you think _I'm_ a promiscuous pervert?'

'Of course not, but you're' His mouth kept moving for a  
moment, but the sound ran out as he realised what Dalet was getting  
at.

Dalet smiled nervously. He had no game plan for beyond this  
moment. Mostly he was just hoping Migel wouldn't punch him.

Migel looked away, covering his mouth with his hand, and for a  
moment Dalet was afraid he was physically nauseated. Then he realised  
that he was trying to blink back tears.

'Are you okay?' he asked softly.

'I-I'm fine. I never never realised that someone like you  
could be someone I _liked'_

'Does it does it make you feel better about it?'

'So much better!' said Migel, in what was almost a sob. 'It's  
&endash it's such a relief! I mean, you don't know how I've been  
 _feeling_ these past few weeks, it was as if the world was  
rubbing my nose in it, and I've been so _scared,_ as though I  
was choking on it, sometimes I nearly couldn't breathe! And &endash  
and I was losing all my faith in Dilandau-sama, I didn't know what to  
think any more'

'You certainly hid that well,' Dalet commented. 'You always seem  
totally in control.'

'And you always seem totally normal! I - I'm sorry, I didn't mean  
that the way it sounded.'

'No, it's all right. I understand what you meant. And if I've made  
you feel better, I'm so glad.'

'So so it's not like a disease you catch'

'Not a disease at all.'

'And it's not it's not _bad_ when I dream about kissing  
a boy and wake up all sticky?'

'Just healthy hormones at work.'

'And I wouldn't have to do all that, that mucky stuff the,  
er, the ass stuff'

'I don't really like the sound of that myself,' Dalet admitted. 'I  
haven't tried it, but it makes me feel a bit nervous. And I would  
want to wait, and become really close to someone before I got  
intimate with him anyway.' He blushed a little. 'I know that sounds  
old-fashioned and wimpy, but I think it's true, it's something you  
should save for a person you're in love with.'

'No I think you're right my dreams, and my my  
daydreams are about having, well, a sweetheart. Someone to

&endash to hold hands with, and kiss goodnight, and' Migel's  
voice trailed off. He looked rather embarrassed too.

'We sound perfect for each other,' Dalet said lamely.

'Oh! I didn't mean'

'No, I didn't mean'

'Right.'

'Of course not.' Migel stared at the opposite wall, and Dalet at  
his toecaps, both of them with cheeks burning.

'What's what's it like?'

'Pardon?' Dalet looked up.

'To kiss a guy.'

'Oh.' Flustered, he thought of his cousin. 'I I think it  
depends on the person. It it helps if they don't have braces  
and you don't bump teeth, I guess.'

'Would you want to' Migel was making an elaborate  
cat's-cradle of his fingers and staring at them as if they were the  
most interesting thing in the world.

'Want to?'

'Try with me? I'd like to, um, try it out. Just to see.'

Dalet swallowed, hard, and prayed his voice wouldn't come out as a  
squeak. 'Well, I I shouldn't do that without telling you  
honestly that I really like you so it would be more than  
just an experiment for me.' He sat there waiting for, dreading,  
praying for a response, with his heartbeat thumping in his ears.

'Me too,' said Migel in a very small voice.

'I &endash what?'

'I like you.' He stole a glance at Dalet's face and darted his  
eyes back to his twining fingers. 'It it made me really happy  
when you started being more friendly in the last couple of days  
because I liked you so much and I felt guilty about that

but then I thought you'd be a good influence on me, because you're so  
nice and normal, and soon I wouldn't even notice that you're so, um,  
so so much the kind of person I want to kiss.'

 _At this point,_ Dalet thought, _angels of light should pop  
out of the woodwork to sing a chorus of joy._

'Wow,' he said stupidly, with a smile on his face that he couldn't  
have gotten off with a crowbar. 'That's that's really how you  
feel?'

Migel nodded, looking almost as shyly happy as Dalet felt.  
'So could I'

'You'd _better_ now.' There was a moment's stillness before  
each realised that the other was not going to lean forward first, and  
then they both darted their heads forward and narrowly missed bumping  
noses.

'Sorry!'

'Why don't you keep still and I'll'

'All right.' Dalet closed his eyes and waited. He felt Migel's  
rapid, nervous breathing flutter against his lips for a moment  
then the kiss. Soft, light, sweet; if kisses were flowers it would be  
a pink rosebud. It blossomed and faded, leaving his heart pounding.  
He opened his eyes slowly.

'Was that all right?' Migel asked.

'Completely all right. _So_ all right!'

'And' - he looked panicky again for a moment - 'you're  
really sure it's not wrong? That my father didn't know?'

'I don't want to say anything disrespectful about your father, but  
he really didn't know about this.'

'I'm so glad so, so glad' He touched Dalet's face very  
softly, slipping his fingers behind the curtain of his hair to trace  
the line of his jaw.

'You think _you're_ glad!' They both began to laugh, leaning  
together, foreheads touching. A quiet cough interrupted them, and  
their heads snapped round guiltily. Dalet relaxed as he saw that it  
was only Chesta, looking round the corner at them timidly, but Migel  
looked as if he were in danger of swallowing his own tongue.

'It's all right,' Dalet assured him, 'Chesta's my friend, he  
understands.'

'Understands what?'

'I'm really sorry to butt in on you guys, but it's getting  
unbearable in there,' Chesta said. 'Can I sit down?'

'Be our guest,' said Dalet. 'Have a bit of cold floor.'

'Oof,' said Chesta, sitting down with his back to the opposite  
wall and his legs splayed in front of him in an attitude of  
exhaustion. 'Had to get out. Everyone can hear Van-sama and  
Dilandau-sama going at it like there's no tomorrow. They're all split  
between taking off to the training hall where they'll be out of  
earshot, eavesdropping like mad, or having a fight about whether or  
not Van-sama and Dilandau-sama are going to Hell, and meanwhile Biore  
and Gatti have pushed their beds together and announced their  
engagement. I don't know what they think they're playing at. I  
thought they were only experimenting together.'

'Everyone is mad but thee and me, and every once in a while I  
wonder about thee,' Dalet said. 'Which I think is a quote from  
something.'

'Experimenting?' said Migel. 'What do you mean?'

'Stuff you wouldn't want to hear about,' Dalet said, waving his  
hand. 'Chesta. Guess what. Migel is like us.'

'You're joking,' said Chesta, at the same time as Migel blurted  
'Us?'

'This adds weight to my Theory of Everyone, don't you think?'

'Us? Is Chesta your &endash your boyfriend?'

'Oh my God, no. No, we're friends.'

'This little angel has a secret love,' said Chesta, raising a  
finger to his lips and winking, 'and out of respect for his privacy I  
can't say any more.'

'You could have had more respect for _my_ privacy than just  
to blurt it out to someone without even warning me,' said Migel.  
'I've just nearly had two heart attacks in two minutes.'

'I'm sorry. I was just so excited! And it's honestly okay to tell  
him. He's happy for us, aren't you Chess?'

'Us?' repeated Chesta, beaming. 'There's an Us? Of you two? God,  
you work fast! Congratulations!'

'Um, getting back to the first Us,' Migel said, uncertainly, 'do  
you mean Chesta's like us, non-sleazy?'

'Oh, no,' said Chesta. 'I'm a genuine gold-plated dirty boy. I can  
put both legs behind my head.'

Migel blinked. 'What would you want to do that for?'

'Umm I'm not sure either,' Dalet admitted.

'So innocent,' said Chesta. 'When you're older I'll show you a  
book.'

'Who are you, and what have you done with Chesta?'

'Don't worry,' Dalet said, patting Migel's hand. 'The uncensored  
Chesta takes a bit of getting used to, but he's not dangerous.'

'To myself or others.'

'What's what's going on?' Migel looked at Dalet, then  
Chesta, pleadingly. 'You two seem to know secrets can you  
explain to me?'

'Um,' said Chesta, looking uncomfortable. 'That's just it. Knowing  
secrets, well, sometimes they're other people's secrets and you don't  
have the right to pass them on without permission. I probably know  
more than most people, but I don't know the whole story, and I can't  
tell it anyway because of promises I've made.'

'We're as confused as anyone else most of the time,' Dalet  
added.

'And I'd rather just say there are things I can't tell you than  
tell you lies. I was lying to Dalet at first, until he found  
something out by accident.'

'You make it sound as if there's some enormous underlying  
conspiracy at work,' Migel said, a trifle nervously.

'Do you think there is?' Dalet asked Chesta seriously.

'I can't tell,' Chesta said, shrugging. 'If there is we're only on  
the edges of it. I can't see any shapes that suggest an overall  
design. And my, um, my contacts, unless they don't tell me  
everything, which I know they might not for reasons of safety, don't  
seem to &endash oh, I don't know. Everything's uncertain and weird  
these days.'

'Talk about weird. First Dalet tells me there's nothing wrong with  
boys loving each other, and now you turn out to be some sort of  
secret mastermind and courtesan.'

'Catamite,' said Chesta, 'if you're a boy the word is catamite  
&endash and that's not quite fair, because it makes me sound really  
experienced and like I've been with a lot of different men, which I  
haven't. I sleep with one guy who I'm in love with.'

'I always thought you were still a child,' Migel said, shaking his  
head.

'Nope. You know the dirty book Biore found? Mine. I was so  
embarrassed &endash and then so annoyed that no-one suspected it was  
mine! They all thought of me as a child.'

'I just thought of something significant,' said Dalet. 'Van-sama  
confiscated that book.'

'Oh Gawd!' said Chesta, clapping a hand to his mouth. 'Do you  
think it's my fault he went so randy?'

'Not your _fault,'_ Dalet assured him. 'You didn't give it to  
him on purpose. It was just bad luck. But yeah, I think that might've  
helped inflame his passions.'

'Wasn't even my best one,' Chesta muttered.

'Oh, and a collector of pornography. That just about sets the tin  
lid on it,' Migel said. Dalet began to laugh.

'It's erotica,' Chesta protested. 'It's classy!'

'Chess, you're my best friend, but I'm not going to let you tell  
me that stuff isn't smut.'

'All right, all right, it's smut. But it's very nice smut with  
pretty illustrations. Nothing _tawdry.'_

'I _do_ admire how he makes these fine distinctions,' Dalet  
said to Migel, who mustered a small chuckle, but was still not  
sufficiently at his ease to really laugh.

'Do you think we can ever go back to the dorm?' he asked.

'Oh, Van-sama and Dilandau-sama have to get tired sometime,'  
Chesta said.

'What about Biore and Gatti?'

'They're not doing anything indecent, just being pillocks and  
making a show of what an intense devoted couple they are. They really  
do make me laugh. The other day Biore was trying to say he was only  
messing with Gatti as practice for girls.'

'Biore seems like the more girly one of those two,' Migel said,  
puzzled.

'People can surprise you,' Chesta said. 'I wouldn't've expected  
Dilandau-sama to be a pillow-biter.'

Migel blushed and looked uncomfortable.

'Mig doesn't really like hearing about things like that,' Dalet  
said protectively.

'Oops,' said Chesta, embarrassed. 'I didn't mean to be yukky.'

'I've never talked about such things before,' Migel said. 'I feel  
very strange.'

'You'll get used to it,' Dalet told him, smiling.

'At the moment none of it feels real. I can't believe I kissed  
you.'

'Do you regret it?'

'No, but it all feels as if soon I'll wake up and it will have  
been a dream.'

'Another of Dalet's theories is that we're not really in reality  
any more,' Chesta said, 'so maybe that's true.'

'Don't say that!' Dalet protested. 'You'll jinx us.'

'Sorry!' Chesta said. 'Listen, I'm going to go back and see if the  
coast is clear.' He got to his feet and crept away.

'We should probably go back too,' said Dalet. 'It's getting on for  
dinnertime anyway.'

'Right,' said Migel, but he hesitated as Dalet got up.

'Something the matter?'

'I... I just wondered, wanted to know... what we've said, and me  
kissing you... does that make us a pair, I mean a couple?'

Dalet looked at him for a moment, with his head on one side. 'I  
think it just means we _can_ be if we want to,' he said, and  
held out his hand to help Migel up.


	23. Chapter 23

After a while, and with some trepidation, Chesta, Dalet and Migel  
entered the dorm again. The red curtains of Dilandau's bed were open  
and it had apparently been vacated, the covers kicked back and  
trailing to the floor.

'They've gone back to Van-sama's room,' Guimel explained, meeting  
them at the door. 'He says he's ordering dinner for them sent there.  
So it looks as though we're on our own for the rest of the night.' He  
looked hopefully at Migel, awaiting some kind of reassuringly  
authoritative gesture. _Someone_ had to be in charge.

'This is hopeless,' Migel said with a sigh, putting his hands on  
his hips. 'I can't keep order when things are like this.' Guimel's  
face fell.

'I mean, look at this place,' Migel went on, waving a hand to take  
in the dormitory at large. 'Those guys have gone and filched a bottle  
of wine from somewhere and they're playing Keep the Rhythm Going. I  
can see people having a water fight in the locker room. Gillen's  
taken over the card school and is sharping everyone who wants to play  
while Gatti and Biore do Heaven knows what under the covers.' He  
looked less thoroughly horrified than he had previously at the sight  
of the undulating hump beneath the combined quilts of Gatti and  
Biore's beds, but he was clearly not happy.

'Show-offs,' said Chesta, with disgust. 'At least _some_

people know how to be _discreet.'_

'Who?' said Guimel, looking bewildered. 'We could hear everything  
Van-sama and Dilandau-sama did.'

Dalet snorted with laughter and Migel looked rather pained.

'I sometimes think you display an unwholesome curiosity about such  
things, Guimel,' said Dalet, patting him on the back in a friendly  
manner. 'Are you going to be the next convert?'

'I'm just trying to understand what's going on!' Guimel protested,  
turning pink. 'I mean, how does this stuff work? Are they in love or  
what? If they're not in love it's not _right,_ is it?'

'Hooray,' said Migel dryly, 'I'm not in the moral minority after  
all.'

'Do you three know what's going on?' Guimel asked, turning  
beseeching eyes on them.

'Nope,' said Chesta, shrugging. 'Except that the world's gone  
berserk-o, obviously.'

'It's nearly time for dinner,' Migel said, glancing at the clock.  
'Let's just get everyone ready and go. I've had enough of this and  
quite frankly the sooner this day is over the better.'

'What are we going to do about the young lovers?' Chesta asked,  
eyeing the shifting quilts dubiously. 'I don't think they'll come out  
from under there willingly.'

'I say we just whip the covers off them,' Dalet said decisively.  
'If they're finally embarrassed by their behaviour so much the  
better.'

'I don't want to see _that,'_ Migel objected, blenching.

'You can keep your eyes closed,' Dalet said soothingly, 'and we'll  
just tell you when to pull. I'll let you know when it's safe to  
look.' Putting a finger to his lips in an exaggerated shushing  
gesture, he led the way to the pushed-together beds, treading  
quietly. They had to walk through the card school to get there, with  
no compunctions about kicking over the piles of cards in the middle  
of the circle of seated boys and ending the game. When the four of  
them were stationed at the corners of the beds, they each took a  
double handful of the bedding, Migel shut his eyes grimly, and at a  
'Now!' from Dalet both quilts were flung off.

'Everyone!' Chesta shouted gleefully. 'Come and have a look at  
what Gatti and Biore are doing!' Guimel, holding the other end of the  
same quilt, gave him a startled, reproachful look and he realised he  
was getting out of character.

'Excuse _me!'_ Gatti snapped, crimson-cheeked and hastily  
tugging the sheet up to his chin, effectively concealing Biore, who  
could not react verbally owing to having his mouth quite full.

'Excuse you what?' said Dalet. 'You know the rules. Wanking's okay  
as long as it doesn't disturb anyone. We never had a rule about  
humping because it never came up, but we're all big boys now and I  
think you should be held to the same standard. No-one cares if you  
two get it on. No-one is interested. Therefore, don't shove it in our  
faces!'

'Biore,' Gatti mumbled, reaching under the sheet and jogging  
Biore's head, 'stop it now!'

'Speaking of things shoved in people's faces,' said Dalet,  
grinning.

'Oh, _ew,'_ said Migel, putting his hands over his ears to  
augment the sensory deprivation occasioned by his tightly shut  
eyes.

'Is he?' Guimel trailed off, pointing vaguely at the shape  
of Biore's gently moving head under the sheet. 'What's it feel like?'  
he asked Gatti, in tones of academic interest, sitting down beside  
him companionably.

'I can't &endash ah! &endash _tell_ you,' said Gatti,  
sounding scandalised, and catching his breath in mid-sentence.

'Yes, but is it as nice as everyone _says_ ,' Guimel went on,  
imperturbably, 'or even nicer, or disappointing?' On the other side  
of the bed, Dalet was almost choking with laughter and had to sit  
down on the next bed.

'Nicer,' said Gatti, weakly. His breathing was growing  
increasingly rapid; Chesta thought he didn't have long to go. 'Oh  
God,' he said, with a kind of joyous despair, reinforcing the  
impression. Shutting his eyes, he reached under the sheet to clench  
his fingers in Biore's wavy hair.

'Dalet, why did I let you talk me into this?' Migel wondered  
aloud.

'I couldn't've foreseen that Biore'd be so persistent!' Dalet  
gasped, wiping his streaming eyes.

'Eh?'

'Take your fingers out of your ears, fool.'

'Can I have a turn after you?' Guimel asked Gatti, setting Dalet  
off again. A couple of seconds later, Gatti gasped sharply, his hips  
kicked upward, and he fell back on the pillows, panting, in a daze of  
pleasure.

'All finished?' Guimel said, mildly. 'That didn't take long.'  
Chesta shot him a Look; he was beginning to suspect him of playing a  
game similar to his own, although he wasn't sure he believed Guimel  
capable of that. Maybe it was just the tact deficiency at work  
again.

After a moment, Biore burrowed up from under the sheet, propped  
himself on his elbows, and looked round casually, just as if he  
weren't dishevelled and sweaty and lying next to a boy he'd just  
brought to orgasm.

'Who else wanted a turn?' he asked cheerfully.

'Biore!' Gatti exclaimed, hurt.

'That's enough,' Migel snapped. 'Get cleaned up, get dressed, and  
we're going to dinner. And you two can clean the locker room after  
that. Toilets, showers and all. I want the grout between the tiles  
immaculate. Use your toothbrushes if you need to.'

'Ooh, aren't you tough,' said Biore dryly. 'Couldn't I just blow  
you and call it quits?'

'No you could not!'

'Biore!' Gatti yelped, tears starting in his eyes. 'How can you  
say that right in front of me?'

'I'm only joking,' Biore grumbled.

'Well, it doesn't _sound_ like it!'

'So you wouldn't really give me a turn?'

'Shut _up_ , Guimel!'

'I was only _asking._ You don't need to _shout.'_

'When did discipline in this place go to blazes?' Migel asked the  
air.

'I blame sex,' said Dalet, nodding gravely. 'Wicked, evil, naughty  
sex. Devil sex.'

'God, I love being a Dragonslayer. We're all going to Hell, lads!  
Wheeeeee!'

 

Dilandau and Van were eating dinner in a leisurely manner,  
lounging on the bed in Van's room. The dishes had been placed on the  
desk; they had a roast chicken to share between them.

'I can't believe the kitchen's actually capable of producing real  
food,' Dilandau said, picking the wishbone clean. 'I shouldn't have  
put up with that muck they gave us.'

'These are the privileges of fucking your betters,' Van said. 'We  
raise your standards.'

'Oh, these are really high standards. We're eating in bed, with  
our fingers.'

'I'm letting you do that because it'll be fun licking the grease  
off.' He caught Dilandau's hand and sucked his first two fingers  
clean, running his tongue up and down their length suggestively,  
looking into his eyes as he did. Involuntarily, Dilandau caught his  
breath, but he managed to smother the little moan that rose up in his  
throat. He was beginning to be scared of the command Van had over him  
through sex; he had expected it to get less as he got used to it, but  
it seemed only to get stronger. _It's only been one day,_ he  
counselled himself. _The first flush will wear off. You'll be able  
to say no to him again. _Being able to say no was hard to imagine  
when all he could feel was a burning _yes._

'What &endash what other privileges do I get?' he asked, trying  
to force his voice normal.

'You're getting to sleep in my bed, eat from my table &endash  
what else do you want? Is it not enough for you to be the king's  
favourite, to be my pet?'

'It's enough,' Dilandau whispered, 'it's enough.' He put his arms  
around Van's neck and drew him closer, kissing him, pressing against  
him, giving in to his urge to get as close as humanly possible, to  
see-hear-feel-smell-taste everything of Van all together. 'Demon  
king,' he moaned, 'my demon king.'

Van drew back, giving him an odd look. 'Not demon,' he said.  
'Draconian.'

'Demon,' Dilandau purred, 'sexy dark demon, incubus.' He traced  
the borders of Van's lips with his tongue-tip. 'You were there in my  
dreams, there in my fantasies, before I even met you. My demon lover  
who touches me and makes me lose control I would've given in to  
you straight away if I'd only recognised you at first if I'd  
only understood'

'So you're not repelled by thinking I'm a demon?'

'Heck, no,' said Dilandau matter-of-factly. 'It just makes you  
hotter. You've got to be something special to have me. Something more  
than human. It's _okay_ that I give in to you. Who could resist  
a demon king, once he'd made up his mind to possess them?'

'You were scared when you saw my wings before.'

'I wouldn't be scared now.'

'Really wouldn't?'

'Really wouldn't.'

'I'm not supposed to show those to anyone.'

'Are they private parts?' Dilandau asked, the corners of his mouth  
curling in a wry smile.

'It's not quite like that.'

'I think it is. I saw your naughty bits.' He grinned and rolled on  
top of Van's body, gently rubbing against him. 'You flashed me.'

'You have such a dirty mind.'

'Says the guy who rims me every chance he gets.'

'I can't help it I like how you taste I like just  
knowing I'm licking your asshole it feels so'

 _'Dirty.'_

'All right, dirty.' A deep, lingering kiss; Van's hands closed on  
Dilandau's buttocks, fingers spreading and squeezing through black  
leather. 'How's my favourite part of your body?'

'Sore, but ready for more.'

'I think it's amazing how such a tight little asshole can take so  
much.'

'You are _so_ full of yourself.'

'No _you're_ full of me that's the  
 _point_ ' Another little squeeze. 'It's all messy and  
sticky in here, isn't it?'

'Mmm'

'You need me to lick it, to clean it up.'

'I think you just like the taste of your own come.'

'You like it too.'

'Do you know what I'd really like?' He walked two fingertips  
slowly up Van's chest as he spoke.

'Hmm?'

'To see all of you.' He caught an end of the cord that laced the  
front of Van's shirt and tugged the bow loose.

'You _have_ seen all of me. You've made a closer examination  
of some bits than anyone else in the world.'

'No, I mean _all_ of you, extra naughty bits included.'

'They are _not_ naughty bits, Dilandau.'

'Then why don't you want to show me?' he asked, teasingly. 'It's  
no good. I'll always think of them as naughty bits now.'

'Can't show you if you don't get off me.'

'Hint taken.' Dilandau rolled off gladly.

'I hope you realise what a strange request this is,' Van said,  
getting up from the bed and walking a few paces away, pulling his  
shirt off over his head as he went. He turned back to look  
challengingly at Dilandau, winding the lavender-tinted cotton around  
his hands.

'You ask me to put on girls' underwear. You can't talk,' Dilandau  
pointed out. He was wondering whether it would be jumping the gun to  
get his pants off now; he knew he would want to touch himself soon,  
while he watched Van undress.

'Unfortunately,' said Van, 'my hands are tied.' He held them out,  
bound together by the twisted shirt. 'I need you to help me. On your  
knees, please.' He raised his arms above his head and watched  
Dilandau kneel before him. Hands on his hips, a warm wet kiss in his  
navel.

'Good boy.'

Dilandau hooked his thumbs in the waistband and dragged it down,  
nuzzling at the meandering line of dark hair that began on Van's  
lower belly and blazed the trail downward. He rubbed his cheekbone,  
cat-like, against the rising hardness below. Popping the top button,  
holding the waistband, he took the tab of the zipper between his  
teeth and drew it down, his eyes fixed on Van's all the way.

 _'Very_ good boy,' Van breathed, as Dilandau pulled his  
trousers and undershorts down, helping him to step out of them and  
stand barefoot and naked. Looking up, Dilandau opened his mouth a  
little way, his tongue-tip wetting his soft lower lip, taking a deep  
breath as if about to fill his mouth, but then backed away, sitting  
down on the edge of the bed.

'Tease,' Van complained, glowering.

'You haven't finished,' Dilandau said carelessly. 'I wanted to see  
all of you.'

'I was hoping you wouldn't insist,' Van grumbled. 'It takes a big  
effort, you know.'

'Maybe you can't do it,' Dilandau suggested with a mocking grin.  
'Maybe I've worn you out too much.'

'I shouldn't spoil you like this,' said Van, bowing his head.  
Dilandau watched, curious. He wanted to see just where those wings  
came from, how they appeared. He heard Van grunt and saw every muscle  
gradually flex, drawn taut by some invisible source of strain. He  
hunched over, breathing hard, fists clenched in their tangle of  
cotton, stretching and twisting the looped shirt.

The shirt, and Van's skin, tore. He cried out in anguish as white  
pinions exploded from his shoulders, a cloud of down expanding in the  
air. Dilandau's eyes widened and he breathed in sharply, fixed to the  
spot. He hadn't realised it would be like this; hadn't realised it  
would _hurt_ Van.

'Oh God oh God.' Van staggered for a moment before getting  
his footing again, and stood with his head hanging, panting.

'Was that normal?' Dilandau asked, faintly appalled.

'Pretty much,' Van replied, weakly, lifting his head a little to  
gaze at Dilandau from beneath his shaggy hair. 'If there's a way to  
do it that doesn't hurt I've yet to find it.'

'Why'd you do it, then?' It had made him uncomfortable, somehow.  
To inflict pain was one thing; to see someone voluntarily draw it  
upon himself was another.

'You put up with pain for my pleasure. Turnabout is fair play.'  
Van straightened up, shaking his hair back from his face. 'Of course,  
you don't get this totally free.'

'I don't?'

'No you've summoned a demon king didn't even bind me  
in a magic circle, you stupid boy. You're _so_ fucked.'

'Oh, I _hope_ so.'

The next second he was flat on his back beneath Van, his arms  
pinned, his lips roughly taken. His clothes were stripped off with no  
attempt at gentleness, and again and again Van's tongue pumped  
against his own.

'I'm going to pound in and out of you just like that,' Van  
promised, drawing back to catch his breath and enjoy the sight of the  
flush on Dilandau's cheeks. 'Hey,' he said softly, smiling, 'you've  
got white stuff on your face and in your hair' He blew in  
Dilandau's face, disturbing the fluffy fragments of down that had  
settled there, before settling to kiss him deeply once again.  
Dilandau wrapped his legs around Van's body, squeezing him between  
his thighs, hugging him tight, stroking his back, feeling the wiry  
muscles shift he slid his hands upward, feeling for the place  
where the broad wings joined Van's body, expecting to find the hot  
wetness of blood, but no they seemed to grow out of his body,  
as natural as his arms and legs. His probing fingertips found the  
areas where the first tiny soft feathers sprouted from Van's  
golden-brown skin.

'Mmph didn't know I was ticklish there' Van murmured.  
'Stop it.'

Wickedly, Dilandau traced his fingers up and down the sensitive  
area, and felt Van shiver.

'Stop it,' he said softly, insistently, taking Dilandau's lip  
between his teeth and gently biting before releasing him.

'Let me look at you,' Dilandau breathed. Obligingly, Van raised  
himself on his arms and gazed down at him.

'Oh, gorgeous' Pale hands caressed Van's chest and shoulders  
as Dilandau's wondering eyes took in the broad white wings forming a  
canopy above him. 'May I touch your naughty bits?'

'If you don't stop calling them that, I really am going to kick  
your ass,' Van warned, lowering his wings to bring them within  
Dilandau's reach.

'They feel so strong but so light, too.'

'Hollow bones. Like a bird.'

'I never realised there were lots of different kinds of feathers,  
before. But there are these big, quilly ones, and these little tufty  
ones do you have _feelings_ in these?' Experimentally, he  
tweaked out a small feather, making Van yelp.

'Yes, I do!'

'I didn't think it'd hurt to pull one, since you shed so many. Are  
you moulting or something?'

'Stop being cheeky.'

'You have pretty feathers,' Dilandau murmured, twirling the little  
white plume he held. 'Pretty, soft feathers' He brushed his own  
lips with its softness, closing his eyes, then biting his lips to  
quell the burning tickle. 'Van can you lie on your back? Lie  
back on them, I mean?'

'I've never tried. I haven't had them out that often.' Hesitantly,  
he lay back, finding that he could rest on his folded wings without  
discomfort.

'That's good.' Dilandau moved to straddle him, kissing his lips.  
'I want to tickle you' He drew the feather along the line of  
Van's jaw. 'Doesn't that feel good?'

'Umm'

 _'Doesn't_ it?' The feather flicked down over his throat,  
raising goosebumps as it brushed his collarbone.

'All right, all right it's pretty good'

'Only _pretty_ good? I'll stop.'

'Don't you dare.'

While Dilandau's right hand controlled the teasing movements of  
the feather, drawing faint little gasps from Van, his left groped on  
the nightstand for the jar of lubricant cream. Dipping his fingers,  
he reached back to prepare himself, stroking the slippery coolness  
into the tight, sore opening, sweet relief and soft protection.

The feather danced its way down to Van's groin. After a brief,  
agonisingly sweet tickling of his cock and balls, Dilandau let his  
mouth take over, hungrily swallowing up the swollen head. The gasps  
gave way to a deep, throaty moan.

 _I want to wrap my tongue around you want to suck you  
dry _He licked the pulsing tip wetly, his saliva mingling  
with the pre-come liquid to trickle down the tight red shaft. He was  
always struck by how _much_ of this Van produced in his  
arousal.

He drew back, letting a strand of thick saliva stretch between the  
tip of his tongue and the tip of Van's cock before it broke and wet  
his chin.

'You see,' he murmured, moving forward on his knees, guiding Van's  
cock up between his buttocks, 'erotic is using a feather kinky  
is using the whole demon.' With a joyous groan, he forced himself  
down on the thick shaft, feeling it invade his depths, cramming him  
full to bursting.

'You little _pervert_ ,' said Van, sounding delighted. He held  
Dilandau's hips, forcing himself in deeper, making him utter a little  
squeak of mixed pain and pleasure.

'Little devil,' he groaned. 'And you call _me_ a demon.'

'I do demon'

Van struggled up into a sitting position, locking his arms around  
Dilandau's body and pressing a wet kiss into his mouth.

'What're you doing?' Dilandau murmured, feeling Van move awkwardly  
beneath him.

'Rearranging my legs. Want to be kneeling.'

'What for?'

He was slammed down on his back, the mattress protesting  
indignantly at the rough treatment.

'So I can do that to you, of course,' said Van, pushing Dilandau's  
thighs up and back, leaning forward as he rose on his knees. 'Oh  
 _yes_  I think I've found my new favourite position. How's  
it feel to you? Mm?' He drew back and plunged in. 'How's it feel to  
you, Dil?'

'Don't &endash don't change my name.' Dilandau's voice quavered  
with each new thrust.

'I'm not. Unless you want me to call you Celena.'

'Nnn no oh God, Van'

'There goes the first alarm! Better stuff something in your mouth  
before you get to screaming Van-sama!'

In desperation, Dilandau grabbed a fold of the quilt beneath him  
and bit down on it.

'I _love_ how you _obeyed_ me on that,' Van panted.

'Nnnnff!'

''m I making you mad, little Dilly? Hope so. You're so cute when  
you're mad.' Dilandau's eyes blinked open to glare at him; he saw  
Van's mocking smile, the snowy wings arching over him, trembling and  
stirring the air, raising chills and shivers on his sweating  
skin.

'Is it feeling good? Seriously, I want it to feel as good for you  
as it does for me.'

Dilandau groaned assent, arching his back.

'I can make it better.' He wrapped a hand around Dilandau's  
flushed erection, gently tugging.

 _'Aah!'_

'Sshh.'

'Oh &endash oh God &endash oh Van, harder, please'

'If you're quiet like a good boy. Better chew the quilt  
again.'

With a soft moan Dilandau obeyed, feeling his blood burn with  
pleasure. He reached down to guide Van's hand, firmly working his  
cock up and down, while each thrust drove him closer to orgasm. The  
breeze of Van's wings made his dishevelled hair flutter and tickle  
his face; he opened his eyes again and saw Van transfigured with  
delight, breathlessly revelling in his body's embrace, his face  
luminous with all that he felt, a being of heaven and hell  
simultaneously.

 _Oh yes_ His back arched again, sharply, as he felt  
himself entering, beginning that incredible moment of suspension,  
when time stretched out and everything became a million times sharper  
and clearer, the feeling of the quilt under his back and the taste of  
a mouthful of wet eiderdown, the smell of hot sweating bodies, the  
sound of their heavy breathing and the bed's laboured creaking, the  
blinding light of the firework patterns exploding inside his  
tight-screwed eyelids _I am a beautiful boy, my lover is a  
demon king, I am a beautiful boy, my lover is a demon king  
_but most of all, above all, beneath all, inside all, pressure and  
pleasure and joyous liquid fire down deep inside, bursting and  
spurting its way out of his body as he came. He was dimly aware of  
musky warmth spattering his stomach and chest; fiercely aware of  
Van's continued onslaught, the quickening rhythm of his stroke, the  
quivering tension that drew his whole body taut, then released him  
with a shudder and a groan.

'Oh oh Dilandau my Dilandau' Van sagged  
forward, resting his weight against Dilandau's splayed thighs,  
fighting to catch his breath. His wings fell around them like  
curtains, surrounding them with cloudy white.

'Van-sama' He could speak softly now; his feelings were no  
longer a scream, but a soft husky whisper. For a while, they were  
quiet, before Van eased himself out and sat back on his heels.

'God' he said vaguely, then swung his legs over the side of  
the bed and walked away, heading for the bathroom alcove. Dilandau  
lay there getting his breath back, feeling a trickle of his come work  
its way down over the slope of his chest, dribbling warmly down the  
soft side of his neck. He could hear water running in the sink.

 _My ass is almost numb. That won't last long._ He stretched  
his arms above his head and ran his fingers through his hair, lifting  
the clinging wet strands from his forehead.

After a while Van returned, drops of warm water still sliding down  
his inner thighs and glistening in the darkness of his pubic  
hair.

'What happened to your wings?' Dilandau murmured.

'I pulled them in,' Van said, sitting down on the bed, easing  
himself down as if he felt near to collapse. 'They kept bumping the  
walls in the bathroom, getting in my way when I wanted to clean  
up.'

'Will you?' Dilandau lifted his rump in the air, spreading  
his legs again and pulling his knees down towards his shoulders, a  
position that called for all the flexibility he possessed. He thought  
if he could just fold himself over a little further this way he would  
be able to kiss the tip of his own cock, but it would be a bit past  
appreciating it now; it hung limp against his stomach, soft and  
sleepy, a last sticky white drop hanging from the tip like a  
trembling pearl pendant.

'Do you want a clean-up too?' Van's hands cupped his buttocks,  
parting them with his thumbs, and he bent his head to gently lick  
between them. Dilandau closed his eyes, breathing in the fresh-come  
smell so close to his face, feeling completely, languorously immersed  
in sex. This was a relaxing tongue-bath, soothing and smoothing him  
down. He gradually uncurled from his position till he lay flat on his  
back; Van stretched out and lay down on top of him, kissing his lips,  
his eyelids, his earlobes, scenting and lapping the white trickle  
that had flowed down over his collarbone.

'It's always _so_ good with you,' he murmured.

'Who are you comparing me with?'

'Just me.'

'You're not so bad.'

'Thank you.' Van rolled over and gazed at him with dark, dreaming  
eyes. 'You really don't mind my wings?'

'I think I kind of like them.'

'You're the second person in the whole world to say that, then.'  
They had their heads at the wrong end of the bed, but it didn't seem  
important; Van pulled up the quilt from the sides of the mattress and  
wrapped it around them, making a coccoon.

'I can't stay awake any longer. Good night, Dilandau.' His dark  
eyes closed.

'Good night.' He gazed drowsily at Van's face as the features  
settled into unconsciousness. 'Good night, Van-sama.'

 

'This is your fault,' Gatti muttered as he poured disinfectant  
into the toilet bowl.

'How so?' asked Biore, sounding cheerful and unrepentant in the  
next stall. 'You wanted to do it just as much as I did. It takes  
two.'

'Do you give a damn about how I feel?' Gatti asked, picking up the  
toilet brush with a shudder. This kind of work was normally beneath  
Dragonslayers; there were orderlies for mucky tasks like  
toilet-cleaning. 'I mean, do you care about how _humiliating_

that was? Aren't you even _embarrassed?'_

'I just don't see anything to be embarrassed about,' Biore said,  
flushing the toilet he'd just cleaned and moving on to the next one  
in the row. They were starting in the middle and working out to  
either end; they'd left the toilets till last, as the most disgusting  
job.

'Don't' Gatti paused in mid-scrub. 'How can you _not_  
be embarrassed?'

'Dilandau and Van sure aren't. And if they're not scared, I'm not  
scared.'

'They're a little different from _us,_ don't you think?'

Biore popped his head out from the toilet stall, giving him a  
puzzled look. 'How? I thought we'd decided to be like them.'

'Well, no, I mean' He was unable to explain what he meant,  
and fell back on recriminations. 'You should've stopped when I asked  
you to.'

'But you were just about to come. Wouldn't you have been really  
disappointed? I was trying to be considerate.'

'That wasn't the kind of _consideration_ I wanted. Everyone  
was _looking._ You can't just assume you know how someone feels,  
Goddamnit.'

'You're being a girl,' Biore said, giving him a patronising look  
from hooded eyes before returning to his work.

'I am not!'

'Next you'll ask me if I still respect you.'

 _'Don't_ you respect me!?' He stood there, straining his ears  
for a reply. 'Don't you laugh at me!'

'Oh, come on. You were the one who came up with the "we're just  
practising for girls" thing. It was a really good justification and I  
believed in it for a while, but I've got my eyes open now. I'm not  
practising for girls, I want to suck cock and fuck ass.'

'And you express your feelings so beautifully,' Gatti replied,  
rolling his eyes. A nasty cold feeling was creeping over him. 'Is  
that all it means to you?'

A heavy pause.

'Don't tell me that's not what it is for you.'

'I thought you know, we shared something special. Something  
just for us. We had that secret for such a long time, and now, now we  
can be honest about our love, and'

'Jeez, Gatti!'

He leaned his shoulder against the cubicle wall, the impatience  
and scorn in Biore's voice scalding him. 'You don't love me.'

'Why would you ever think I loved you? I like you, but it's  
nothing like _that.'_

'You said we were _engaged_ now!'

'I said that for _fun.'_

'Only joking? Like offering to blow Migel and Guimel?'

'Have you ever noticed "Guimel" is sort of "Migel" rearranged?'  
Biore said lightly, chattily, unwilling to have this  
conversation.

'What's the _joke,_ Biore, that you care about me or that  
you'd do it with anyone?'

'Well, not everyone will do it with _me,_ but  
broadly'

'You faithless' He caught his breath, trying to swallow the  
lump that was coming up in his throat.

'Gatti, we're _friends,_ friends who fuck  &endash I never  
knew you were thinking about it any other way and if it helps I  
wouldn't've led you on if I _had_ known. I'm sorry. Try and get  
over it.'

'I can't believe this,' Gatti said numbly.

'We've always kidded around together. That's what I like about  
you, how you don't take anything too seriously and you'll take the  
piss out of anything. How was I supposed to know you'd get all deep  
and meaningful about something?'

'I thought it was a deep and meaningful _thing!'_

'Love is _silly,_ Gatti. Can't you see that, when you look at  
what hopeless little twits we used to be about Dilandau? I remember  
you making that brave, gallant little speech, and what's more  
embarrassing agreeing with you about it &endash but haven't we both  
grown up since then?'

'It wasn't that long ago.'

'It doesn't always take long.'

'I thought that that now I can't love Dilandau that  
way I could love you'

'Spare me.' Biore shoved the brush down into the toilet irritably,  
trying to drown out the reproachful sound of Gatti's tears.  
'Blackmail isn't going to work, you know!'

'It's not blackmail, I'm'

'I'm _upthet,'_ Biore lisped mockingly.

'Don't be such a bastard!'

'Oi,' said Dalet, opening the door from the dormitory. 'Are you  
working or talking?'

'Working,' said Biore sulkily. Gatti tried to take a normal  
breath, but it came out shaky and sniffly. Dalet caught the sound and  
peered in at him curiously.

'You all right?' he asked, quite kindly.

'I'm fine. The disinfectant fumes make my eyes water.'

'Oh. Right. Okay.'

'Disinfectant fumes?' said Biore in a dramatic voice, given an odd  
echo by the cubicle. 'Or a broken heart?'

'Shut up!' Gatti cried, his voice cracking.

'You guys are having trouble already?'

'There's no "you guys",' Biore said. 'If you could just tell Gatti  
so?'

'Gosh, could you try to be a bit nastier about it?' Dalet asked,  
incredulous. 'Listen, Gatti if he's giving you shit, you don't  
have to work with him like this I'll talk to Migel'

'No,' Gatti said, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. 'I don't want any  
more people to know everything private that happens to me.'

'Too bad, because I'm going to tell everyone. Don't want anyone  
not knowing I'm available now. Guimel's been making sheep's eyes at  
me for a while'

'Keep it up,' Dalet said indignantly, 'I'll break your nose on his  
behalf! What's _wrong_ with you? Do you think this is how to  
treat people?'

'People who get all weird and girly and clingy about a bit of  
simple fun, yes! He's got to snap out of it!' Biore stepped out of  
his stall; there was something weird in his eyes, Dalet thought. It  
was like fear, the kind of fear that makes people throw their friends  
to the wolves.

'Just leave him alone,' he said lamely. 'If you want to be a  
poof-about-town that's fine, but it doesn't give you a licence to  
chew people up and spit them out. Gatti, if you want to talk to  
someone, you know you can come to me, okay? Or Chess. We'll keep your  
secrets, and we won't give you a hard time.'

'Right,' said Gatti, without looking at him.

'Okay then,' he said, uncomfortably, and returned to the dorm.

 

Dilandau woke in the small hours of the morning, to find that the  
light was still burning; they'd forgotten to put it out before  
falling asleep.

 _First time I've fallen asleep here. I'm getting too  
comfortable. _His limbs and Van's were entangled, sharing the  
warmth of their bodies. He probably couldn't extricate himself  
without waking Van up. He lay still, looking into his sleeping  
face.

 _He looks younger when he sleeps. Softer. He's got such long,  
sooty eyelashes look how they rest on his cheeks. He's  
beautiful. I find him so very beautiful._

The thought unnerved him, and he tried to slide his arm out from  
under Van's body. Van woke almost at once, blinking at him grumpily,  
his brows knitting into a frown almost as soon as he was  
conscious.

'Wh's the matter with you?' he asked fretfully.

'I need the toilet,' Dilandau lied.

'A'right. Don't be too long. 'n put out the light when you come  
back.'

Against orders, he sat on the toilet for a long time, long after  
he had anything to do there, just not sure he could go back to that  
bed, that embrace. He heard footsteps pad across the room and Van  
appeared in the opening of the alcove, scowling sleepily, his  
dressing-gown hanging open.

'I'm fed up waiting for you,' he said. 'What're you doing in  
here?'

'What do people usually do in here?' he asked defensively. Van  
looking at him 'in here' seemed like taking intimacy too far.

'I haven't heard a splash in about fifteen minutes. Have you got  
some kind of problem?'

'I think _you've_ got a problem, listening to me on the  
toilet.'

'It's a small room, I haven't really got a choice,' Van pointed  
out. He leaned against the wall, looking at him with his head tipped  
on one side. 'How're you feeling? All right? You haven't really got a  
problem down there, have you?'

'Everything's fine, I just wanted some space.'

'Oh. Okay. Well, I'll wait for you. Better than going to sleep  
again and getting disturbed when you come back.' He half-turned,  
looking out at the bedroom. 'I could clean up some of these feathers.  
I always did it outdoors before; didn't realise what a mess it'd make  
in a closed space.'

'Fine.'

Van turned his back to Dilandau's sulky voice and wandered out  
into the room, idly pushing together a pile of feathers with the side  
of one foot. The job really called for a broom, but he could sweep a  
bit like this. He found himself pursuing this self-assigned project  
quite doggedly, following feathers into corners; he really didn't  
want to get back into bed before Dilandau did. There were two reasons  
uneasily sharing space in his mind, that he would feel lonely, and  
that it would be like letting him win, in his stubbornness. Quite a  
heap of feathers grew in the middle of the room; it reminded him of  
the piles of dry leaves gardeners would rake together in autumn. As a  
small child, as far as he was concerned, they made those piles solely  
for the convenience of children jumping into them. He closed his eyes  
a moment, remembering the crackling give of leaves beneath his small  
body, their musty-sharp smell, their colours ranging from glowing red  
and gold to dull brown; he remembered Folken, laughing, lifting him  
from the ruins of a pile, sitting him on his hip and holding him  
there while he picked the leaves out of his hair. He'd laughed too,  
leaned his head on his big brother's shoulder, blown a raspberry  
against the side of his neck to make him start and scold and laugh  
again, then wriggled down from his arms and made him chase him  
through the garden

Something crackled under the sole of his foot, feeling for a  
moment startlingly like a dry autumn leaf, as if his memory were  
infiltrating the present-day world. He opened his eyes and stooped to  
pick it up. It was a piece of white paper, folded in quarters,  
inscribed with a capital F inside a heart, in red ink. After looking  
at it in puzzlement for a moment, he unfolded it and found a few  
lines of writing in the same red ink. He read them once, then twice.  
Distantly, he heard the toilet flush and water run in the sink as  
Dilandau washed his hands.

'What've you got?' Dilandau asked, approaching behind him.

'I've &endash I've found this note &endash read it,' he said,  
turning and pushing the paper into Dilandau's hands rather stiffly.  
Dilandau's eyes flicked over the page, lighting up as they went, and  
he gave a little snort of laughter.

'Dear Folken,' he read aloud, 'I've been thinking about you long  
and hard &endash which is how I remember you. Love and kisses, your  
own little darling to do what you like with. How I remember you!  
That's awful!' He glanced up at Van and looked surprised to find his  
face stony. 'Well, don't you think it's funny? How'd you get  
this?'

'I just found it on the floor,' Van said, pushing his fingers into  
his hair. 'It must have fallen from his pocket or something when he  
was in here a while ago. I can't believe it.'

'I'll say! I didn't think he had it in him.'

'He lied to me.'

'Pardon?'

'He _lied,_ he said  &endash he said he didn't have time for  
women, he wasn't involved with anyone, he couldn't be with anyone  
because of what had happened to him &endash I felt so _sorry_

for him &endash he was lying! He's having this affair with some  
dirty little _moll_ who writes smutty notes like that'

'You're having a pretty dirty affair with me,' Dilandau pointed  
out mildly.

'I'm not _pretending_ about it!' Van snapped back. 'I'm not  
putting on a pose of being &endash being a gentleman, being hurt and  
lonely and cut off from the world' He started to pace around  
the room, moving impetuously, angrily, like a newly caged wild  
animal.

'I told you,' Dilandau said, shrugging, 'he acts like that to seem  
deep and interesting.'

'You don't understand! He _lied_ to me! How can I know if  
 _anything_ he's said to me is true if he lied about this? I was  
so _worried_ about him and the whole time he was having fun  
fucking some little piece of fluff and they probably laugh at me  
together!'

'You sound jealous.'

'I _am_ jealous! I've been betrayed! He's my brother, he's  
supposed to love me!'

'Not like _that,'_ Dilandau said, taken aback.

'I don't mean like that &endash he ought to tell me the  
 _truth!_ He painted himself to me like this, he manipulated how  
I'd feel about him &endash and he's doing something so

 _sleazy_ , so common and crappy and unworthy of him!'

'She dots her i's with hearts,' Dilandau observed, wrinkling his  
nose.

'I can't trust him any more,' Van murmured. 'I just can't. If that  
was a lie, everything he's told me could be a lie.'

Dilandau looked up from the note and found there were tears  
shining in Van's eyes. _Oh, God &endash I can't handle this. I  
can't see him cry._

'Try to calm down,' he said awkwardly. 'Maybe it's not that  
bad.'

'I can't calm down!' Van yelled, startling him. 'He's everything  
I've depended on and he's _false!'_ He seemed to want to say  
more but had to stop in order to choke back a sob. There was  
something very young and defenseless in his face as he fought with  
tears. He folded his arms across his body as though trying to hug  
himself for reassurance, lowering his head to hide his face from  
Dilandau.

'Van try not to take it so hard he's only human.'  
Uncertainly, he reached out and put his hand on Van's shoulder; he  
shrugged it off, but Dilandau replaced it. 'Come on, don't cry. I  
&endash I hate seeing you crying.'

'What do you mean?'

'Either I'm going soft or it's just Celena talking. It's upsetting  
me to see you cry. So don't, all right? I go from upset to pissed off  
pretty quickly.'

'I c-can't,' Van said, shaking his head miserably.

'Come here, then, you idiot.' Dilandau put his arms around him and  
held him close. 'I can't believe I'm doing this,' he said gruffly,  
patting Van's shoulders. 'It's one thing to feel protective about my  
boys, but I didn't think I'd end up nannying you.'

'You're a pretty rough nanny to them.'

'I've got to be. But if anyone hurt any of them, I'd kill him.' He  
squeezed Van tighter for a moment. 'The only reason I don't kick your  
ass for thrashing Chesta and Dalet in Fanelia is that that was their  
own fault.' He paused, thinking. 'Van do you want me to kill  
Folken for you?'

'What?' Van's head snapped up from his shoulder. 'No! Why would  
you do that?'

'Because he's hurting you.'

'You &endash you can't God I suppose that means a  
lot, coming from you'

Dilandau shrugged. 'It comes more naturally than cuddling you and  
trying to kiss it better,' he said. 'That's Celena popping up. This  
is not Dilandau's style.'

'I I think I need Celena's kind of comfort more'

'Do you want me to be her? I don't know if I can change on  
purpose, like you with your wings, but I can try.'

'No I want Dilandau but if Dilandau could act a little  
bit like Celena for a while'

'All right. But if you tell anyone I _will_ kill you. Come  
on, let's get back in bed. You've got your dragon-gown but I'm  
standing here in the nip and I'm freezing.'

They got into bed properly this time, under sheets and blankets.  
Dilandau was not sure what to do, but Van seemed to have it all clear  
in his mind; he nestled down, pillowing his head on Dilandau's  
shoulder and pulling his arm around himself.

'I don't know what to do,' he whispered, his voice sounding small  
and hurt.

'Well are you going to tell him you know? You know, have it  
all out with him?'

'I can't right now. He isn't here. I'll have to wait till he comes  
back from the capital, whenever that'll be.'

'That's true.' He tried rubbing Van's upper arm, which seemed to  
have some kind of soothing effect. 'I'm surprised you're crying, you  
know? I'd have expected _you_ to get mad and stay mad.'

'It doesn't make sense to me either.'

'Maybe I'm not the only one with two personalities. You've just  
got both yours in one proper body.'

'I do feel like I'm a different person from who I used to be.  
Before I came here.' Van closed his eyes, wincing. 'Shit. Now I'm  
getting one of those tension headaches. I hate this it's like  
cold green glass sticking into my brain.'

'Eurgh. Have you got something you can take for it?'

'Not really my meds are supposed to stop this  
happening I forgot to have them with dinner, though, because I  
was with you.'

'Can you take them now?'

'I don't even know if I want to take them at all any more.'

'Why not? I thought they made you feel better.'

'They're from _Folken.'_

'Look, just because he didn't tell you he had a girlfriend doesn't  
mean he's poisoning you or something.'

'Maybe they do things he hasn't told me about, though. Or maybe  
they're a placebo, and they make me feel better because I expect them  
to.'

'You're getting paranoid.'

'I don't want to take them any more.'

'Well, I won't make you.'

'I think they made me get taller. Does that make sense?'

'You've definitely grown since you got here. You're nearly my  
height now. What were you before?'

'I don't know one sixty-five, I think.'

'I'm one seventy-five. So if you grow nearly ten centimetres in a  
couple of weeks, yeah, that's pretty unusual. They give us all growth  
supplements, though, and vitamins and stuff. They're in the food and  
the water. Maybe crappy Fanelian nutrition stunted your growth and  
you're just catching up to what you should be now.'

'That's kind of beside the point,' Van said, but he managed a  
watery smile at the idea.

'It's an improvement. You were a shrimp.'

'Oh, shut up.'

'That was a compliment.'

'It was a bit backhanded.'

'I'm not accustomed to sweet-talk people.'

'No, you're not but at least I know you're honest.'

'I've had a thought.'

'Did it hurt much?'

Dilandau pinched him and continued. 'Tomorrow, let's not do  
anything. Let's go to the garden and lie round and relax. I'd like to  
go there again and see it with my own eyes, so to speak.'

'What about the Dragonslayers?'

'They can live without me for a day. And a day in a garden with  
you sounds like a lot more fun than another day like every day with  
them.'

'You're getting better at this. I felt positively flattered that  
time.'


	24. Chapter 24

Van  
had expected to spend the day with a lot on his mind. Instead, he  
spent it almost mindless. It just seemed to be the thing to do;  
Dilandau offered him escape into his body, on the soft green grass,  
and he took it eagerly, greedily, without compunction.

After  
they had lain together drowsily for some time, in the gentle dip in  
the ground, Dilandau got up and headed away.

‘Where’re  
you going?’ Van asked, catching his ankle.

‘Bathroom.’  
He shook Van’s hand away irritably.

‘It’s  
so prissy to call it the bathroom when you’re just going to  
water a plant.’

‘No,’  
said Dilandau, looking impatient with his obtusity, ‘I lang=EN-GB> _mean_  
the bathroom. Celena _lived_ here. You don’t think she just squatted behind bushes,  
do you? Her bedroom’s over there, just past those little  
whippy-looking trees. I remember. All mod cons. It’s an invalid’s  
room.’

‘I  
didn’t realise,’ said Van.

‘Yeah,  
well, you should think of _details_ lang=EN-GB style='font-style:normal'>,’ said Dilandau  
scornfully. ‘She didn’t always sleep there because she  
liked it out here, but there’s a bed and a bath and everything.’

‘A  
bath? Not just a shower?’

‘Yeah.  
She was nervous of it because it had these little squirty jets in the  
sides, that shot out bubbly water. They all had to be turned off  
before she’d get in, because they felt all tickly on her skin.’

‘Guess  
what!’ Van said brightly. ‘We’re having a bath.’

He  
was so mindless he didn’t even think to ask who had _given_ lang=EN-GB style='font-style:normal'> the childlike Celena her baths.  
They were locked together in a sudsy embrace when a door opened and  
an attendant in a white overall came through. She stared at the two  
of them, blinking at her guiltily from the sunken tub. Then Dilandau  
pulled himself together.

‘Go  
away,’ he said imperiously. ‘This is a private party.’

‘Wh-where’s  
– I mean, the young lady – she wasn’t here  
yesterday but we were told – what’s...’ The woman  
stopped stammering and gazed at them helplessly.

‘There  
was a change of plans and apparently you weren’t notified,’  
Dilandau said. ‘Probably because of the Strategos’  
absence. There’ll be no further need for your services. This  
room and this garden are reserved for our use and we are not to be  
disturbed. And you are not to speak to anyone about this arrangement.’

‘No...  
that was always... all right. I’m sorry for the interruption,  
sir.’ With a final bewildered glance, she hurried out.

‘Shit,’  
said Van, ‘I never thought of that.’

‘You’re  
_vacant_   
today,’ said Dilandau, knocking on his forehead with a knuckle.  
‘Lucky for you I had a speech planned.’

‘Lucky  
me,’ Van agreed, kissing him.

‘Van?’

‘Mm?’

‘Do  
you think Folken could tell us more about Celena? I mean, maybe he’s  
holding out about her too. Maybe he knows where she’s from and  
stuff.’

‘We’re  
not talking about Folken,’ Van murmured, nibbling his earlobe. ‘Not  
talking, not thinking. Only me and you.’

‘All  
right...’

They  
sank lower in the warm fizzing water.

‘You  
could start wearing red armour,’ Dalet remarked to Migel. 

‘I  
don’t want it to come to that.’

‘Oh,  
come on. Promotion. You could swagger round yelling at people. And I  
could be your loyal right-hand-man and brown-nose.’ He propped  
himself on his elbow and grinned.

‘Excuse  
me,’ said Chesta, ‘some people are still trying to sleep.’

‘Lazy  
beast,’ said Dalet, giving him an idle, friendly kick.

Last  
night had been a bit... strange. They had all felt it. After dinner,  
well, technically they should have pursued some orderly activity,  
should have read their books or written letters, but it just hadn’t  
happened. Even Migel had adopted a laissez-faire attitude. People got  
silly. There had been an over-under race, starting at one end of the  
dorm and seeing who could alternately jump over and crawl under the  
beds of one row and reach the other end first. There had been Truth  
or Dare. There had been Dornkirk impressions, the most popular one  
involving a lot of flatulent noises. Once their punishment duty was  
over, Biore and Gatti had come back in from the locker room, Gatti to  
sit on his bed and look quiet and sad, Biore to attempt to put the  
moves on Guimel.

Guimel  
had slapped him.

‘If  
you can’t tell when a person’s _joking_ lang=EN-GB style='font-style:normal'> you need to learn,’ he  
said indignantly. ‘You really think I’d want to get  
involved with someone who’d bounce from Gatti to me in ten  
seconds? Slut.’

Biore  
looked rather stunned; evidently he had never anticipated this sort  
of reception.

‘Besides,’  
said Guimel virtuously, folding his arms, ‘ _I_ lang=EN-GB style='font-style:normal'> like _girls._ lang=EN-GB style='font-style:normal'>’

‘Suuuuuuuuure  
you do,’ said Dalet, who was passing with a bag of broken  
biscuits he’d just begged from the kitchen.

‘I  
lang=EN-GB> _do!_ ’

‘And  
we lang=EN-GB> _believe_  
you,’ Dalet said with great mock sincerity. ‘Chess, why  
have you pushed our beds together? I’m very fond of you but it’s  
not like that.’

‘Oh,  
I’m going to get Migel’s next. We’re going to make  
a big squalid sleeping platform like savages,’ Chesta  
explained.

‘Or  
like my sister and her friends having a slumber party,’ Migel  
elaborated, dragging over his bedding. ‘We just think it’s  
that sort of night.’

‘Can  
I...’ Biore began.

‘ _No,_ ’  
they said in unison.

‘No  
sluts on  _this_   
squalid sleeping platform,’ said Chesta, piling their pillows  
in the middle of it.

‘You  
couldn’t handle it anyway,’ Biore said scornfully, trying  
to turn away with some dignity intact.

‘I  
don’t _want_ style='font-style:normal'> to handle it,’ Chesta replied  
cheerfully. ‘Oo. Cookies. Yum. Good one, Dalet.’

After  
lights out they lay there talking quietly, eating biscuits and trying  
to keep the crumbs out of their sheets, laying out their plans for  
the future.

‘Engineer,’  
Dalet said, decidedly. ‘I want to see if I can get an  
apprenticeship to Folken-sama. I bet he’ll be hiring once the  
war is over.’

‘I  
think I’d like to be a doctor,’ Chesta said thoughtfully.  
‘Or maybe a nurse. No, I think a doctor. You get to learn more  
neat stuff. I’m interested in people’s bodies, and how  
they work, and how they go wrong, and how to make them better.’

‘We  
could work together,’ Dalet suggested. ‘I could make  
artificial limbs like Folken-sama’s and you could sew ‘em  
onto people. What about you, Migel?’

‘My  
parents think I should be a scientist,’ Migel said. ‘Maybe  
even a sorcerer.’

‘You’d  
suit one of those capes,’ Dalet said helpfully.

‘I  
don’t think I want to, though. I don’t know. There’s  
lots of things I’m interested in. At home I used to collect  
wildflowers, and press them in an album, and look them up so I could  
label them, and grow things from cuttings... I think I’d like  
to do something with plants, be a gardener or a botanist or  
something.’

‘That  
sounds great,’ Dalet said. Under the pillow, he slipped his  
hand into Migel’s, just touching the fingers. After a moment’s  
uncertainty, Migel’s fingers closed on his. He pressed his face  
into the pillow, trying to hide the big stupid smile he could feel  
growing, and the blush on his cheeks. ‘I could design a  
greenhouse for you,’ he offered. lang=EN-GB>And come home at the end of the day and find you there  
among the flowers, in the warm soft humid air...

‘Thanks.’  
A little squeeze of his hand.

‘Oh,  
and I want lots of flowers to brighten up my patients’ rooms,’  
said Chesta. ‘I’ll expect freebies, or at least mates’  
rates.’

‘I  
could breed roses,’ Migel said, sounding keen. ‘I want to  
see if I can get a  _black_ rose. No-one’s ever done that. I’ll name  
cultivars after you guys, how about that?’

‘Great!’  
said Chesta. ‘I’d like mine to be white with a dark pink  
heart, please.’

‘I  
want yellow,’ said Dalet. ‘With red stripes.’

‘Sure  
you wouldn’t like polka dots or plaid?’

‘No,  
silly, you know, streaks coming out from the centre.’

‘All  
right... there’s the Chesta Caravel and the Dalet Amis  
varieties... I’ll just have to keep them in mind.’

‘And  
you should do a rose that’s deep dark velvety red, _nearly_ lang=EN-GB style='font-style:normal'> black, and call it Dilandau  
Albatou,’ Chesta suggested.

‘I’m  
not sure I want to dedicate a rose to him  now.’

‘I  
just think it’d be nice,’ Chesta said awkwardly.

‘Don’t  
look so blue about it, Chessy,’ said Dalet kindly. ‘Oh!  
Can you do blue roses? I think there should be a blue rose called  
Dragonslayer.’

‘If  
I have to come up with all these, I think you should have to invent a  
perpetual motion machine and Chesta has to cure cancer,’ Migel  
grumbled.

‘We’ll  
do our best.’

‘Um...’  
A hesitant voice from the bedside. They looked up to see Gatti,  
hugging his pillow in front of him.

‘Yeah,  
Gatti?’

‘Would  
there be room for me on the, um, stinking sleeping platform?’

‘Squalid  
sleeping platform,’ Chesta said, ‘and sure.’ He  
shifted over to make room. ‘Just stick your pillow in the  
middle and you can have half my covers.’

‘Thanks.’  
Gatti lay down; his voice sounded a little thick, as though he had  
been crying quietly.

‘Are  
you all right?’ Chesta asked softly.

‘Yeah.  
I just feel so _dumb._ style='font-style:normal'> What’s wrong with me?’

‘There’s  
nothing wrong with you.’

‘I  
always let him talk me into things,’ Gatti said forlornly. ‘We’d  
just get all silly and giggly together and one thing’d lead to  
another.’

‘You  
did a good job of keeping it quiet.’ Dalet reached over and  
patted his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about it any more,  
Gatti. You just made a mistake. You didn’t hurt anyone except  
yourself.’

‘We  
don’t think any less of you for it,’ Migel said, which  
cost him rather an effort. Somehow he felt better after he’d  
said it. Dalet gave his hand an affectionate squeeze under the  
pillow. ‘Everyone misjudges people sometimes.’

They  
fell quiet for a moment. 

‘We’re  
just talking about what we want to do when we grow up,’ Chesta  
said. ‘How about you, Gatti?’

‘Um...  
well, I think it’d be interesting to be an architect...’

After  
a while, Gatti and Chesta had dozed off; the dorm was almost silent.  
Migel and Dalet kept talking in whispers, sharing more private hopes  
and dreams. Eventually, with some trepidation and a near nose-bump,  
they kissed, softly, and went on kissing, drawing closer in the dark.  
They were under separate bedcovers, and the soft barrier between  
their bodies seemed like a kind of security blanket, giving them  
leave to snuggle close without having to feel nervous about it.

‘I  
want to be with you,’ Migel murmured into Dalet’s ear. ‘I  
want us to be together...’

‘Oh,  
Mig...’

‘I  
think I’m falling in love with you.’

For style='font-style:normal'> _us_ it’s  
real. For lang=EN-GB style='font-style:normal'> _us_  
it’s true. He  
felt Migel’s lips touch the side of his neck, nuzzling,  
nipping, and arched up to him. Their bodies pressed together, through  
sheets, blankets, quilts, no insulation against the electricity  
between them.

Should I stop because I’m  
getting an erection? Would he be upset? He... he doesn’t need  
to lang=EN-GB style='font-style:normal'> _know_...  
he probably can’t feel it through all these covers... and it  
feels so good... my Migel...  
He pressed closer, and realised with a shock that Migel probably lang=EN-GB>could  
feel his erection, since he could feel _his._ lang=EN-GB style='font-style:normal'> Migel’s head snapped up  
and he blinked guiltily.

‘I  
– I’m sorry – I...’

‘It’s  
all right... I am too...’

‘I  
wasn’t trying to...’

‘No,  
I know you weren’t...’

‘Dalet?’

‘Mm?’

‘We’re  
probably not doing anything _really_ lang=EN-GB style='font-style:normal'> bad, are we? With all these  
covers between us?’

‘Well,  
no.’

‘We’ve  
still got our pajamas on and everything.’

‘And  
– and I’m not exactly _touching_ lang=EN-GB style='font-style:normal'> you...’

‘Would  
you let me keep kissing you?’

‘Yes...’

 _His lips are so warm, so  
soft, moist rose-petals..._  
Without either of them quite _deciding_ style='font-style:normal'> to do it, their hips began to rock  
together, rubbing against each other. Dalet clung to Migel’s  
shoulders, terrified that all this would stop, that Migel would get  
scared and guilty and pull away, just as he felt so close to him,  
just as he was getting so excited...

Migel  
reached down and pulled away the quilts and blankets from between  
them, so they were separated only by sheets and nightclothes, forms  
that had been vague and softened by layers now firm and clear to the  
touch.

‘I’m  
sorry...’ he whispered, ‘I’m sorry...’

‘No  
you’re not,’ Dalet breathed, hugging him closer and  
beginning to move his hips faster. Their mouths locked together in a  
warm, pulsing kiss as they rubbed together, trying to keep their  
movements very tiny so as not to disturb Chesta and Gatti. It was  
making them tremble all over. The sensation was like masturbation and  
yet not like, everything taken to another level by being together.

_When I play with myself it’s  
like this sweet hot itch that I enjoy more and more... and I want to  
rub it and rub it and rub it... is he feeling that too?_

Migel  
strained against him and gasped, then his whole body went limp. As  
Dalet continued frantically rubbing, he felt wetness seeping through  
the sheets; he bit his lip and closed his eyes and felt everything  
shudder with hot sticky delight. They lay curled together, panting,  
listening for any sign that they had woken someone.

‘I  
think we got away with it,’ Dalet murmured, stroking Migel’s  
hair back from his forehead.

‘I  
can’t believe we _did_ style='font-style:normal'> that.’

‘But  
it’s all right...’

‘I...  
I don’t think we should keep sleeping together...’

‘No?’

‘What  
if we go too far?’

‘We  
won’t if we don’t _want_ lang=EN-GB style='font-style:normal'> to, rosebud.’

‘Is  
Rosebud my new name?’

‘Just  
for sometimes. Special occasions.’

‘I  
just think it’s important not to go too fast...’

‘Migel,  
you dummy,’ Dalet said, starting to laugh softly.

‘What?’

‘Do  
we lang=EN-GB> _have_  
anywhere where we could go too far and too fast? I’m not going  
to have sex with you in the same _dorm_ style='font-style:normal'> as everyone. We’re not Gatti and  
Biore. We’re going to _have_ style='font-style:normal'> to wait at _least_ lang=EN-GB style='font-style:normal'> until the war’s over. And

lang=EN-GB> _then_  
maybe until we don’t live with our parents any more.’

‘Oh.  
Oh, you’re right.’

‘Dummy.’

‘Don’t  
call me a dummy. Call me rosebud.’ They kissed again, a gentle  
kiss with smothered laughter in it.

‘I  
think for now this is just about right,’ Migel whispered.

‘Mmm...  
just right.’

‘After  
all, I would’ve just dreamed about you and woken up sticky  
anyway.’

Dalet  
had to bite his tongue not to laugh. ‘You’re very sweet  
and gallant,’ he said.

‘Oh  
no – I didn’t mean...’

‘I  
know you didn’t. I should say I think I’m falling in love  
with you too.’ He pulled up the covers, wrapping the two of  
them together. ‘Don’t want you to get cold.’

‘I’m  
just imagining living with you when we’re older... isn’t  
it going to be great?’

‘When  
I become rich as an engineer or an inventor or whatever, I’ll  
buy us a house with a big garden for you and a big workshop for me.’

‘Swimming  
pool?’

‘Certainly.’

‘Duck  
pond?’

‘You  
like ducks?’

‘Don’t  
you?’

‘All  
right, we can have a duck pond. As long as they don’t crap all  
over the place.’

‘lang=EN-GB> _Indoor_  
swimming pool with a stained glass ceiling over it?’

‘How  
rich do you think I’m going to be?’ Dalet asked in mock  
indignation. ‘Go to sleep and stop wasting my money.’

‘Maybe  
I’ll become rich as a rose breeder and keep _you_ lang=EN-GB style='font-style:normal'>.’ Migel gave him a little  
nuzzling head-butt in the shoulder.

‘Good  
night, Mig.’

‘Good  
night.’

At  
the other end of the sleeping platform, Chesta bit his thumb. They  
seemed to be settling down now. He had never been so simultaneously  
aroused and embarrassed; he knew it was awful to listen to his  
friends making love, but he’d been woken by the vibration in  
the mattress and had been unable to drop off again. Gatti seemed to  
be sleeping like a baby, unless he was just very good at playing  
possum.

_And here I lie with a  
hard-on nearly ripping my peejay pants and nothing to do with it.  
God, I wish Folken would come back! What’s more important, a  
bunch of silly destiny machines or my needs?_   
He tried to smile at the thought, without much success. He rolled  
onto his front, so he couldn’t touch himself, hoping that would  
make the erection go away sooner, and hugged his pillow.

_I hope he’s all right.  
He can get very low if I’m not there to cheer him up. Well,  
maybe he’s having a nice time in the city._

_I hope he’s not having  
lang=EN-GB style='font-style:normal'>_too __

nice a time in the city meeting cute city boys. He wouldn’t  
flirt with anyone else, would he?

 _He wouldn’t lang=EN-GB style='font-style:normal'>_sleep _  
with anyone else, would he?_

_Of course not! He really  
loves me. He wouldn’t do that any more than I would. Of course,  
here I am half-wishing Dalet and Migel would’ve asked me to  
join in. It can’t hurt to just have a little fantasy, can it?  
Me on all fours in between the two of them... cock in my mouth, cock  
in my ass... oh good Lord, I can’t even cheat on him with  
imaginary people without feeling guilty._

_What if I could have two  
Folkens? _lang=EN-GB style='font-style:normal'>Oh _  
yes. I can sit in Folken A’s lap while Folken B sucks me...  
hgmph. ‘Folken A’ sounds funny. Folken A!_  
He smothered a giggle and rolled over a little way, slipping his hand  
down inside the waistband of his pajama pants. _Oh,  
but I can’t laugh now... my mouth’s too full... Folken B’s  
stood up and slipped it in... oh God, he’s so big... but how  
about Folken A pounding my ass? Mmph... I’m so full at both  
ends... nearly gagging... think I’m going to come... and he  
grabs my hands and holds them so I can’t touch it... and he’s  
coming in my mouth... Oh God, Folken-sama!_

He was unable to keep himself from gasping sharply as he reached his  
orgasm.

Next  
to him, Gatti stirred and opened his eyes. ‘Chess?’

‘Um  
– no!’ Chesta whispered, frozen with panic. ‘I mean  
– it’s okay, go back to sleep.’

‘You’re...’  
Gatti paused for a moment, then moved a little closer, uncertainly. ‘Do  
you want to...’

‘No!  
Honestly.’

‘But...’  
He made a vague gesture under their shared covers. ‘I mean... I’ll  
make you feel good...’

‘Come  
on, Gatti, you only just broke up with Biore.’

Gatti  
was silent for a moment. ‘I thought maybe if I just screwed  
someone without caring I would feel better.’

‘I  
think you’d feel worse,’ Chesta said earnestly. ‘I’m  
knocking you back for your own good here.’

‘I  
didn’t really even realise you _did_ style='font-style:normal'> that.’

‘I  
lang=EN-GB> _am_ a  
fifteen-year-old male, Gatti. It’s what we do!’

‘Yeah,  
but  _you?_   
What do you fantasise about? Getting to hold hands with a girl?’  
He was rather startled by the explosive snort of laughter which  
Chesta tried to smother in his pillow.

‘What?’

‘Yes  
– that’s exactly it. A pretty girl with flowers in her  
hair. Sometimes if I get  _really_ over-excited I imagine she kisses me on the cheek.’

‘You’re  
taking the piss,’ Gatti said irritably.

‘But  
I’m pretty wiped out after one of _those_ lang=EN-GB style='font-style:normal'>, I can tell you! Why, I nearly  
yanked the head off last time!’

‘Oh,  
stop it. I’m sorry I asked.’

‘Don’t  
worry ‘bout it, Gatti. Just go to sleep.’ Chesta flashed  
him a smile and rolled over, settling down. That was about the last  
thing he knew until he was woken by Dalet and Migel whispering –  
and, of course, Dalet’s kick. He passed it on to Gatti. ‘Gummorning.’

‘Urgh,’

Gatti said, rolling onto his stomach. ‘What time is it?’

The  
sudden clamour of the rising-bell answered his question.

‘Turn  
it off,’ grumbled Dalet. ‘Let us sleep in on our squalid  
sleeping platform.’

‘We  
can’t do that,’ Migel said.

‘Can’t  
we?’

‘I  
know what you mean,’ Chesta said. ‘What is there to get  
up for without Dilandau-sama?’

‘Ches-lang=EN-GB> _ta_.’

‘You  
know what I mean. To tell us what we’re meant to do. He always  
knew.’

‘Well,  
I suppose Folken-sama told him,’ Migel said uneasily. ‘Except  
he’s not around for me to ask, and frankly I would feel a bit  
nervous.’

‘He’s  
really very approachable if you catch him at the right moment,’  
Dalet said, sitting up and scrubbing his fingers through his hair. ‘Well,  
who else can you ask in his absence? Who’s next in the pecking  
order?’

‘As  
far as I know, the chain of command goes straight to Emperor  
Dornkirk.’

They  
all sat still for a moment, letting that sink in. Somewhere in the  
middle of their silence, the rising-bell shut off.

‘Yes,’  
said Gatti, ‘I can just see that. “Please, Dornkirk-sama,  
tell us what to do today, because our Strategos is away and our  
captain is too busy having a torrid affair to command us”.’  


‘Should  
we  _tell_   
on him or what?’ Dalet wondered. ‘I mean, when  
Folken-sama gets back.’

‘I  
don’t think we should,’ Chesta said uneasily.

‘Isn’t  
it the sort of thing he should _know?_ lang=EN-GB style='font-style:normal'> Since it involves an officer  
under his command and his own brother?’

‘Well...  
yeah... but wouldn’t you feel _really_ lang=EN-GB style='font-style:normal'> uncomfortable trying to tell  
him?’

‘What  
are we going to do today?’ They all looked expectantly at  
Migel.

‘Oh,  
what the hell,’ he said. ‘Swimming can only be good for  
us, right?’

Dilandau  
woke from a doze around midday; Van was sound asleep beside him on  
Celena’s bed. Before, he had been the one awake while Dilandau  
slept; there was evidence of his activity in the crumpled bits of  
paper scattered over the floor around the writing-desk built into the  
wall.

Why does he always leave paper  
littered about?   
Gingerly, he slipped off the bed and padded over to the nearest ball  
of paper. Smoothing it out, he found disconnected snippets of writing  
in red coloured pencil, coloured pencils being the only writing  
instruments Celena’s desk held.

_My Dilandau. MY Dilandau.  
Skin like milk and hair like silk._

_ fuck me fuck me fuck me _

_ turning black in my dreams _

_ heart turning black blood  
turning black _

_ Dilandau white angel red  
devil _

‘Either  
this is a very poor attempt at a poem,’ he murmured, ‘or  
he’s really quite mad.’ He picked up another paper-ball.

_Mother you love him best but  
you don’t know he tells lies Mother he doesn’t hide his  
wings if he doesn’t I don’t think I should have to you  
love him best but he didn’t kill it I killed it for you for  
Father for Balgus everyone is dead._

‘All  
right. He  _is_ mad.’

_last night I dreamed of  
needles and glass_

_ you were there and you  
kissed me goodnight as you tied me down _

_ you bound my wings you cut  
out my heart _

_ I am a slain dragon _

‘What am I going to do  
about you, Van?’


	25. Chapter 25

'Wake up, Van.'

'Wst? What time is it?'

'Time for you to do me again. Come on.' Dilandau kissed him,  
slowly, meltingly, letting it fade away like a whisper before softly  
biting his lower lip. 'You know I need it.' _If I keep him happy,  
keep him _busy, _he's not going to have time to come up with  
psycho stuff like that, is he? I don't want to be sleeping with a  
crazy person._

'You're going to wear me out,' Van said sleepily. 'Haven't you had  
enough?'

'More.' Kisses on his neck, varying from moist little smooches to  
sharp sucking love-bites.

'I thought you had a sore ass.'

'I can take it I love to take it come on, Van, don't  
be a spoilsport. Think how much you wanted this.' Lowering his head  
to Van's chest, he sucked at his right nipple, twirling his tongue  
around and round.

'Mm you might have to persuade me a bit.' He yawned,  
stretched, then stroked Dilandau's hair. 'Because, you know, I've  
always liked the idea of just lying here while you crawl all over  
me'

'Lazy bugger.'

'If you want to be buggered, you'll have to put up with my  
laziness.' He played with a strand of silvery hair as Dilandau moved  
to the other nipple, sucking, then nibbling. 'That's very good.'

'Of course. It's me.'

'You really like it that much? Taking it up the ass, I mean?'

'Mm.'

'I thought it hurt, and you were putting up with it to please  
me.'

'It hurts a little because I think I must be pretty  
small but do you think I'm _that_ self-sacrificing? It  
feels terrific. It mostly hurts afterwards. And the more excited I  
am, the less it bothers me. The trick is, you only hurt the rim.  
Where you're pounding me inside it feels great.'

'I didn't realise.'

'Why? You going to stop doing it now you know I like it?'

'Do you think I'm that mean?'

'I hope you're not.'

'Why don't you suck my cock while I think about it?'

'You're not even really hard yet.'

'Hence the need for a good hard sucking.' He gently pushed  
Dilandau's head downward. 'Have you ever thought that maybe you're  
not unusually small, but I'm unusually big?'

'Oh please. I shower with fifteen other guys. If they're a  
representative slice of the population, you're &endash well &endash

only slightly above average.'

'But you admit I _am_ above average,' Van grinned.

'You're big enough for me, anyway.' Van's cock was beginning to  
stand, perking up from the base. He wrapped his hand around it,  
helping it up, and licked the tip, hearing Van catch his breath with  
deep satisfaction. 'I'll have you rock-hard and ready in no  
time.'

'Play with the head. I like _lots_ of attention on the  
head.'

'You're pretty sensitive here, aren't you?'

'That's an understatement, believe me.' Van bit his lip as  
Dilandau began to work his foreskin with his fingertips, pulling it  
back from the head, then sliding it over again.

'I think I'm most sensitive on my balls.'

'Stop talking about your balls. You shouldn't be able to talk; you  
should have a mouthful.'

'Mm?' Dilandau licked him, tongue-tip probing into the slit at the  
centre of the head.

'Oh God.'

'You _are_ hard now. If I let go I bet it'll slap your  
stomach.'

 _'Please_ stop talking' Van caught his breath again as  
Dilandau's wet mouth took him in, firmly sucking as he bobbed his  
head up and down, velvety moisture ebbing and flowing around him. 'Oh  
God, oh God oh God don't stop don't stop &endash I said don't  
stop!'

'I want to play some more,' Dilandau said. 'You asked for  
attention on the head.' He slipped the tip of his forefinger under  
the foreskin, drawing it tight, and described circles around the  
head, making Van groan, his voice cracking. 'It's such a beautiful  
colour.'

Van was unable to respond coherently; clutching at the bedclothes,  
he could only pant and wait for further pleasure. The wetness took  
him again and he cried out, hips thrusting upward, thighs  
trembling.

 _Oh, for God's sake do I have to let him fuck my face  
again? I hate that. Maybe I can hold his hips down._ He laid the  
forearm of his free hand across Van's belly, pushing against his  
thrusts. Van seemed to get the message; his body grew stiller, no  
longer actively thrusting but trembling violently.

 _Oh yes. Now I_ know _I'm making you feel good. I could  
really get to like having your cock in my mouth, as long as I know  
there'll be no surprises_ He lowered his head, taking it  
deeper, sucking as hard as he could, and with a shock felt Van come,  
liquid heat spurting into his mouth. _Ugh! It's as though he knew  
what I was thinking!_ He drew back, close to gagging, unable to  
choke it down for the moment.

'Don't swallow,' Van said urgently. Dilandau looked up at him,  
disbelieving.

'I want you to want to watch you let it out of your mouth,  
slowly. Yes yes, that's right.' He touched Dilandau's face,  
squeezing his cheeks with his fingers. 'Dripping out all over your  
chin oh _yes_  that's what I like to see, Dilly  
Albatou with a faceful. Lick your lips. _Yes.'_

'You are _such_ a pervert,' Dilandau said thickly. 'And I've  
told you I don't like you messing with my name.'

'It's too long. Who needs a three-syllable first name?'

'I _like_ my name. It's distinguished. And I don't remember  
you ever trying to turn Celena's name into Celly or anything. You're  
just doing it to piss me off.'

'Because you're cute when you're mad.'

'You're such a jerk. Couldn't you give me some warning you were  
going to come in my mouth?' He raised his hand to wipe his chin, but  
Van caught his wrist and held it back.

'Don't you like the taste?'

'It's not the _taste_ that's the problem.'

'It does taste good, doesn't it? Can I kiss you and have a little  
lick?'

'No,' Dilandau said sullenly.

'Oh, come on.'

'All right. But you've got to start treating me with some more  
respect.'

'I don't think you like respect, deep down' Van kissed him  
deeply, lapping against his lips and tongue. 'Hey, if it makes you  
feel any better, my middle name is Slanzar.'

'That's awful.'

'I know.' Van grinned.

'I haven't got a middle name that I know of.'

'Lucky you.' Van glanced down into Dilandau's lap. 'So, how do you  
want to deal with that boner?'

'Your vocabulary is really sleazy, you know.'

'I like using dirty words for dirty things. I get off on it.'

'Well, I think I'll take matters into my own hands,' Dilandau said  
huffily. 'I'm not putting it in a dirty mouth like that.'

'Great. I love watching you. Do you want some lube, or will you  
rub it dry?'

'Actually' he said, and paused thoughtfully.

'Actually what?'

'I want to try something I haven't done before.'

'Hmm?'

'I want to see if I can get it in my mouth.'

'I can't do that.'

'I might've known you'd try.'

'Well, that was before I had you. A boy's got to relieve his urges  
somehow. Nearly sprained my neck.'

'How were you doing it?'

'How do you think? I sat down, spread my legs and bent over.'

'I thought of something when you were licking me out the other  
night. What if I go on my back like _this_ '

'No, not like that &endash I can't see your face or your cock.  
Turn round.'

'Okay, okay. So I'm on my back with my ass up what if  
I can roll right over and &endash oh yes. I'm going to be able to do  
it. Van, can you help me, can you hold my legs down?'

'You are so weird,' Van commented, placing his hands on Dilandau's  
calves and bearing them down on either side of his head.

'I need a hand free to grab it.' He flicked his tongue against the  
tip of his cock and shuddered with delight. 'Oh _yes!'_

'You'd better not decide you don't need me after this.' Van  
watched, enthralled, as Dilandau swallowed up his own erection,  
red-faced with arousal and the effort of maintaining his difficult  
position. 'I think this might be the dirtiest thing I've ever  
seen.'

'Mmph.'

'I notice you'll stop sucking me to chat, but it's a different  
story when it's _your_ cock.'

'Hngk!'

'Doesn't this hurt your neck? Looks like all your weight's on  
it.'

Dilandau closed his eyes, suckling feverishly. He had never been  
able to give himself such intense pleasure before. There _was_  
pain in his neck and his back, but he couldn't bring himself to care  
about that.

'Well, if you're ignoring me, I'll have to try and distract you.'  
Still leaning on Dilandau's legs, he bent forward to lick between his  
buttocks.

'Ngh!' His eyes popped open with the shock of Van's touch, the hot  
flickering pulse of his tongue.

'You noticed _that,_ didn't you? How about this?' His tongue  
became a firm probe, pushing in deep and hard. Dilandau whimpered,  
feeling light-headed, ecstatic throbbing in every sensitive spot,  
barely able to breathe, close to choking. With a desperate squirming  
motion, he freed his cock from his mouth just as he came, spattering  
his face. With one last lingering lick, Van released him too, letting  
him uncurl and lie flat, gasping for air.

'You're just swimming in it, aren't you?' he heard Van say, a  
faint voice through the ringing and rushing in his ears. 'Or maybe  
drowning. Do you need mouth-to-mouth?' He kissed him rather  
roughly.

'I I don't oh Van'

'That's probably the first time you've come without screaming my  
name,' Van pointed out. 'Still, it got me really hot watching you.  
See?' Clambering over him, he straddled Dilandau's head, pushing his  
erect penis into his face. Weakly, Dilandau opened his mouth, ready  
to take it.

'Uh-uh-uh. Now I'll take it into _my_ own hands.' Gripping  
his cock in a tight fist, he began to pump it firmly. 'You know I'm  
going to squirt it right in your face, don't you?'

'Mmh'

'You're going to love that, I know it. Oh God &endash Dilly,  
that's so _cute,_ you just went cross-eyed trying to focus on  
it!'

Blinking, Dilandau managed to get his eyes to refocus; it was hard  
to look at anything but the jerking cock inches from his face. A drop  
of Van's pre-come fell on his lips. _God, this is awful &endash  
it's so bloody degrading. But he's happy he's not brooding or  
crying still, I want to get my own back somehow._ He raised  
a hand to his face, dipping his fingertips in the sticky, slippery  
juices, then slipped them between Van's buttocks.

'Get the hell out of there,' Van said, frowning. 'That's not for  
you.' Ignoring him, Dilandau found his anus and pushed.

'Oh God &endash seriously, Dilandau, don't do that

please'

'You love it,' Dilandau whispered, pushing his fingers in deeper,  
surprised at how soft and silky Van's inside felt.

'Aa-aaah' Van pushed against him, driving his fingers  
deeper, his own knuckles whitening as he gripped his cock.

'You want to feel my thick, hard cock inside your tight little  
ass.'

'N-no'

'How about three fingers?'

'AAH!' Van came, showering Dilandau's face with thick semen. He  
blinked and licked his lips, swallowing salt, feeling warm trickles  
run down his chin and neck.

'Oh God' Van shifted onto all fours, trying to support  
himself on shaking limbs. 'You bastard. I told you not to.'

'Was that, or was it not, about the most intense orgasm of your  
life?'

'It's not supposed to go like that. _I'm_ on top.'

'You're missing a lot of fun,' Dilandau purred, rolling over to  
sit up. His eye fell on his shirt, draped over the bedpost. He lifted  
it thoughtfully, twisting it in his hands.

'Yeah, but but it's all right to do it that way, because  
you're the girl the girl really'

'Right now I'm all boy.'

'Don't remind me.' Van eased himself down to lie on his  
stomach.

'Are you trying to kid yourself that you're only a little bit of a  
faggot? You're _so_ turned on by this boy-body. You're _not  
_ thinking of Celena when you fuck me. If you fucked her, I bet  
you'd be thinking about me.'

'I wouldn't _fuck_ Celena.'

'Would you be a gentleman with her? That's not you, Van. Come  
here.' Dilandau pounced, grabbing Van's arms and pulling them behind  
his back, binding him firmly with the shirt. He sat down squarely on  
Van's back, pinning him to the bed.

'Stop!' Van cried. 'Get off me! For God's sake, Dilandau, you  
can't do this to me! I never forced you!'

'I'm not _going_ to force you. I've got no interest in being  
a rapist. I just want you to admit that you want it.'

'J- _just_ to admit it?' Van asked, uncertainly.

'Well, of course, once you say you want it, I'll give it to  
you.'

'Please, Dilandau please let me up. I'm &endash I'm  
scared.'

'Why?' Dilandau bent to kiss his shoulders, stroking his arms.  
'You love to feel something in there. You told me you finger-fucked  
yourself when you masturbated.'

'That's different.'

'I was scared. But you told me it'd be okay you told me I'd  
love it and I did why don't you trust me, like I trusted  
you?' Backing up, he stroked Van's buttocks, gently kneading.

'It's not supposed to be like that.'

'Why not?' A soft kiss above the tailbone, while he gently pushed  
Van's thighs apart. 'And if you really don't like the idea, why are  
you lying so quietly letting me do this?'

'I &endash I &endash Dilandau, please I do want it, but we  
mustn't do it!' There were tears in Van's eyes.

'Why not?' He flicked his tongue against the puckered opening,  
smeared with his come.

'It's &endash it's just more wrong that way &endash I told  
myself I didn't have to feel bad because you're a girl really, but if  
we do it like that it means it means'

'Means what? Means you're not a man?' He spiralled the tip of his  
tongue around the reddened bud. 'Means you're letting your white  
angel-red devil fuck you fuck you fuck you?'

'What?' Van sounded startled, guilty.

'I read your little poem.' He pushed against the opening with a  
fingertip; Van was trying to hold it closed, but gave way under a  
little pressure.

'That was &endash that was thrown away, you shouldn't  
have'

'Come on, Van. There are no secrets between you and me. Good boy.  
Push it out. Doesn't that feel good?'

'Y-yes'

'Mm' Dilandau probed a little deeper, using his tongue  
again, drawing a half-panicky moan from Van's throat.

'Oh Dilandau'

'Do you want it?'

'I want it'

'Tell me, now. _What_ do you want me to do?'

'Fuck me'

'Again?'

'Fuck me fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.'

'Good boy. I'll take it slow and easy. You mentioned lube  
earlier?'

'Th-there's a tube in my pants pocket,' Van said, 'but couldn't  
you just' Dilandau swung his legs off the bed. 'Dilandau! Don't  
just walk off! My pants are out in the garden!'

'Well, you're not going anywhere. Wait for me to get back.'

'That's not _fair!'_

'I'll only be a minute. Good boys are patient.' He opened the door  
and strolled out into the garden, rather enjoying the feeling of the  
balmy air against his bare skin. His blood was fizzing with  
excitement; just the thought of entering and possessing Van's body  
was driving him wild. He would need to take it slowly; he wasn't sure  
he would be able to get another erection immediately. He was rather  
stunned at how quickly Van seemed able to recover. _Of course, he  
often doesn't last long. I guess that's the trade-off._ He found  
the tube of lubricant in Van's pocket, along with, for some reason, a  
crumpled black feather. He sat on the grass for a moment twiddling it  
in his fingers, trying to remember where he had seen it before, until  
he remembered that Van had worn it as a pendant, on a thin cord. He  
had glimpsed it swinging over him when they fought on the catwalk,  
but that had been the only time he had noticed it. It must have come  
off with his shirt when they had undressed together. So what, if  
anything, did it mean? _It's not one of his own feathers; they're  
all white. Of course, perhaps it doesn't mean anything in particular.  
It could be just a feather he found once and thought it was nice.  
People do things like that. Still I'm curious why am I so  
curious about him lately?_ He slipped the feather back into the  
pocket of the discarded trousers and wandered back to Celena's  
room.

Van, still lying on his stomach on the bed, greeted him with a  
baleful look. 'It was _not_ fair to go off and leave me with my  
hands tied,' he said.

'It's not as if I tied you to the bed,' Dilandau pointed out. 'You  
could get up and go any time you wanted to.'

'You left me alone,' Van said sulkily, dropping his head on the  
pillow.

'I thought it'd do you good to wait a bit for me. Doesn't  
anticipation heighten the pleasure?' He sat down on the bed and ran  
his hand along Van's spine, over his rear, admiring the pale  
golden-brown contours of his body. 'You have gorgeous skin.'

'I could've gone off the boil while you were wandering around out  
there.'

'Well? Did you?'

A sullen pause.

'No.'

'You still want it in here?' He slipped his middle finger down  
between Van's buttocks, stroking up and down in the cleft between  
them.

'Mm-hm.'

'Once more with enthusiasm.'

'Yes please, Dilandau'

'Let me please you some more, then.' Spreading his buttocks with  
both hands, he nuzzled down between them, softly licking the opening.  
Van moaned and pushed up to him eagerly.

'Won't you won't you let me have my hands free? So I can  
touch myself?'

'I want to see if I can get you to last a bit longer this time.  
You go off too quickly. So no wanking.'

'That's not fair.'

'But wouldn't you like to see how long it takes you to come just  
from being fucked?'

'I'm not in this to gain knowledge, you know!'

'No you're in it to come and I will make you come.' He  
returned to his exploration, meandering from the anus down over the  
perineum, probing the taut skin there, getting Van very thoroughly  
moistened with his saliva. Breathing heavily, Van could only lie  
still and accept the caresses.

'Relax. You're all tense.'

'I can't _help_ being tense, when I think of what you're  
going to do.'

'But this feels good, right?'

A whimper of assent.

'Speaking from personal experience, I would say this is an ass  
that wants some action.' Smearing a little lubricant on his fingers,  
he began to gently probe. 'You know that feeling where all you  
know is that you want something inside you something big, and  
hard, and hot you've had my fingers inside you before, you know  
you like it.'

'I've never asked you to do it.'

'But today you've asked me to put my dick inside you you  
can't take that back'

'Dilandau? Aren't you hungry? Why don't we get some lunch first?  
We missed breakfast.'

Dilandau laughed softly. 'You don't really want me to stop, do  
you?'

'I no I'm just very, very nervous.'

'Two fingers. Is this good?'

'Mmm'

'And I'm going to just gently move them in and out. This is how  
it'll feel only more so, of course you can handle that,  
can't you?'

'It's not the _feeling_ I'm scared of, Dilandau, it's what  
it'll _mean.'_

'It'll mean you're mine as I am yours. Isn't that a good thing?'  
He slipped in a third finger, spreading Van wider, making him grunt  
with surprise.

'Y-yes.'

'Then you can't have any more objections, can you?'

'Then get it over with'

'Goodness, no. I'm still getting warmed up. Getting _you_

warmed up.' He wasn't worried about his erection any more; he was  
feeling a pleasant heaviness in his cock, noticing it swinging  
between his thighs as he moved. It just needed a little longer. 'Just  
relax and admit to yourself what a pleasure this is.' He slowly moved  
his fingers in and out, expanding the tight ring of muscle that  
gripped them, letting it contract again, feeling a slight softening  
in its tension as Van's breathing changed, slowing as he grew calmer.  
After a minute he heard a faint moan.

'Good?' He started gently helping his erection along by hand, with  
a generous dollop of lubricant.

'Mmh' His breathing was quickening again, this time with  
arousal; he shifted position a little, rising up slightly on his  
knees.

'It's time now.'

'Oh God' Van shivered as Dilandau's fingers slipped out.

'You'll be fine. See? Here's the head.' Holding it in his hand, he  
spiralled it around Van's anus, teasing him.

'For God's sake, just put it in.'

'Are you sure?' He pushed in a little way, then drew back.

'Yes!'

 _'Really_ sure?' Another little push, deeper, but still not  
to full penetration.

'Yes! _Please!'_

'All right, then.' He drove himself in with one smooth stroke,  
swallowed up by velvety heat, hearing Van cry out, a low wail that  
was almost despairing. He had to deliberately hold himself still for  
a long moment, fighting not to come instantly. 'Oh God oh  
God.'

Van pushed back against him, almost making him lose the control he  
had just gained. 'Fuck me,' he moaned.

'Oh, _now_ you get into it.'

'Just _fuck_ me! And use long strokes.'

'I should have known you'd be a pushy bottom.' He began to obey,  
drawing back until only the head of his cock was inside Van, then  
plunging deep inside.

'I &endash I think I need to pee.'

'No you don't. I'm just hitting your bladder from the inside. I  
know what it feels like. Let me change the angle a bit.'

'Oh my _God.'_

 _'That's_ the sweet spot.' He felt Van convulse under him as  
he stroked it again and again.

'Harder.' His voice was a throaty whimper.

'Pardon?'

'Fuck me harder!'

 _I've got to hold on, got to hold on want to make him  
scream like he makes me_ 'Who do you want to fuck you?'

'You, stupid.'

'What's my name?' He set his teeth, trying to find some muscle he  
could clench that would give him control, aroused beyond measure at  
the way Van's voice shook at each thrust.

'Di-dilandau.'

'Dilandau what?' An especially deep thrust.

'Dilandau-sama!' The words seemed pushed out of him from  
within.

'Oh, yes.' _Home stretch now. Got to be. It feels too good, I'm  
not going to make it, not going to beat him just _go. He  
held Van's hips, pounding in and out, his own buttocks clenched with  
effort, every pulse of his life's blood seeming to concentrate in his  
cock.

'Dilandau-sama' Van groaned. 'My my  
Dilandau-sama _Dilandau-sama-aah!'_ His back arched so  
sharply that he almost threw Dilandau off.

 _That's it I'm letting go_ Three more strokes  
finished him completely, with a deep, shuddering rush of  
exhilaration. He pulled out and rolled over on his back, panting,  
feeling sweaty all over. Next to him Van was gasping hoarsely;  
turning his head a little, he could see his face, exhausted, cheeks  
flushed deep dusky crimson and just a little tear-stained.

'You didn't _cry_ , did you?'

'No,' Van said &endash and the lack of a defensive, snitty tone  
in his voice made it seem likely to be true. 'It just made my eyes  
water a lot.'

'And did you like it?'

'I came, didn't I?'

'Give me a straight answer, Van.'

'Yes. Yes, I liked it.' He closed his eyes wearily after making  
the admission. 'You're a bastard, you know.'

'Sorry. I'll probably do it better next time.' Van's eyes snapped  
open in shock and he grinned at him cheekily. 'I've got a taste for  
it now. You didn't think you were getting away with just once, did  
you?'

'I'm going to have to build up a tolerance for this.'

'You _did_ say you liked it.'

'I _love_ it. It's just so intense that I don't think I can  
 _walk_ for a while.'

'No need to. You can lie here all lazy and comfortable. I'm going  
to have a wash, and then I think I'll get dressed and go and get us  
something to eat. Want me to untie you first?'

'You're kidding. You're going to untie me _and_ bring me  
lunch?'

'I'm not a _total_ bastard.' He loosened the twisted shirt  
and freed Van's hands.

'Being in love must have mellowed you.' Van sat up, flexing his  
wrists and fingers.

'I beg your pardon? Who says I'm in love?'

'I was kidding. Well, that should gratify you. I came all over  
myself.' Van wiped at the off-white spatters on his stomach.

'You'd _better_ be kidding.'

'I did _say_ I was.' He was licking his fingers, the little  
pervert. 'But Dilandau' He looked up curiously. 'By now  
would you say you and I are friends? Friends with some antagonism,  
yeah, but friends?'

'I guess I'm somewhat your friend.' Dilandau pulled the  
wrinkled shirt back over his head as he spoke, rather gruffly.

'That's good,' Van murmured, lying back comfortably. 'You know I  
don't hate you any more, I hope.'

'I'd sort of thought that was implied by the amount of fucking  
we've been doing.'

'I don't know I get mixed up when I think about it I  
don't know if I started liking you because you let me fuck you, or I  
wanted to fuck you because deep down I really liked you.'

'Write a poem about it,' Dilandau said, a little mockingly.

'Those aren't poems. I just write out what I'm thinking. It helps  
make my headaches go away.' Van pushed his sweat-damp hair back from  
his forehead. 'I want them to stop. They freak me out.'

'They getting any better? Milder, I mean? They could just be a  
symptom of coming off your meds. Withdrawal.'

'Worse,' Van said. 'I had a killer while you were asleep. Thinking  
about my brother seems to trigger them.'

'So don't think about him.'

'I can't not think about him. The only way to really get my mind  
off him is to focus it on you.'

'Then think about me as hard as you can.' Dilandau stood still,  
awkwardly, for a moment more, wondering if it would be appropriate to  
kiss Van at this point. These tender impulses were getting on his  
nerves; he was wondering if he wasn't kidding himself by saying they  
came from Celena. That didn't hold water any more than the notion  
that Van was 'really' fucking Celena when they slept together. He  
turned, impatient with himself, and left.

 _Somewhat your friend. What do I mean by that?_ He found the  
rest of his clothes out in the garden and dressed quickly, irritably.  
 _What do I mean by anything I'm doing? Am I even really myself any  
more? I've found out about someone else who seems to be me some of  
the time, I'm not _doing _what I've always done &endash what's  
_happening _in the war? What does the Strategos think he's  
playing at? With me as well as Van. If I turn this around in my mind  
much more _I'm _going to get a headache. I need something to  
eat. Let's just worry about that for the time being._


	26. Chapter 26

'Stop spitting in the water.'

'But I'm a whale. I have to spout from my blowhole.' Chesta took  
another mouthful of pool water and pursed his lips preparatory to  
another fountain impression.

'That's not a blowhole, it's a mouth, and it has more germs in it  
than a dog's, so stop spitting in the water!' Migel set the point of  
a forefinger against each of Chesta's cheeks and pushed in sharply,  
forcing him to let the mouthful go.

'Well there, you see, you just made me do it again.'

'If you kiss the surface of the water you suck up a mouthful,'  
said Dalet, who had evidently been conducting his own experiments.  
'And wouldn't the chlorine in the water be disinfecting Chesta's  
germy mouth?'

'I just don't want to swim in Chesta-spit. Call me old-fashioned  
if you will. It's as bad as the municipal pool at home where the  
little kids always piddled in the water.'

Chesta looked guilty.

 _'Chesta!'_

'I was _kidding!_ You're great fun to fake out.' Chesta stuck  
his tongue out cheekily and swam away.

'He is not who I thought he was,' Migel muttered, shaking his head  
as he boosted himself up on his arms, to sit on the edge of the pool  
with his legs in the water.

'You're not who you thought you were,' Dalet reminded him softly,  
coming to rest with his arms folded on the poolside and his chin  
resting on them. 'People are full of surprises.' He rather enjoyed  
seeing the slight blush on Migel's face at those words.

'Cut it out,' Migel mumbled, 'we're in public.'

'Well, with all the noise and splashing I didn't think anyone  
would overhear. I think you've guided us through another day very  
successfully.'

'If we were running a holiday camp, maybe.' Migel shook his head.  
'I can't help thinking there'll be hell to pay sooner or later.'

'Oh, pfoo. You've done the best you could under the circumstances.  
Dilandau hasn't even checked in today. He's being useless. Just  
because you've found a boyfriend is no reason to neglect all your  
responsibilities.'

'Dalet?'

'Hmm?'

'I wish it would be over.'

'Well, so do I.'

'I mean the whole war and everything. I just can't care about it  
any more after all this. I don't want to be a Dragonslayer. It  
doesn't mean what I thought it did.'

'Mig Dilandau flaking out doesn't mean that the _war_  
is meaningless. Or our _destiny_ is meaningless. We're going to  
win this. The much-vaunted Dragon isn't in our way any more; he's too  
busy getting his rocks off to mess up our plans. Soon Zaibach will  
rule Gaea, and we'll all have everything we need.' Dalet looked up at  
him, quizzically. 'You really feel that strongly about it?'

'I don't know. I didn't realise he was that important to me. I  
suppose I had a crush on him all along without understanding it.  
Since he's let us down well, it seems like anything could turn  
out hollow.'

'I won't. Won't let you down, I mean.' Dalet tipped his head on  
one side and smiled up at him.

'I'm not worried about you,' Migel replied, smiling back.

 

Chesta floated on his back, out in the middle of the pool. He had  
gone off pretending to be a whale; at the moment he was mentally an  
island, one of those floating islands in a sailors' story, that you  
landed on and then it moved and turned out to be a giant turtle  
sleeping in the sun. He was wondering vaguely whether it would be fun  
to swim with Folken, whether he could swim at all - of course, water  
didn't make his arm rusty, but it might be too heavy to allow him to  
float. He tried to imagine being free to do things like that with  
Folken, in that bluestone mountain mansion of his dreams. _An  
indoor swimming pool, like Dalet and Migel were talking about, as  
warm as a bath. It would have a shallow end where we could lie and  
bask, with our skin all different colours where the sun shining  
through the stained-glass ceiling hit us _He could not get  
it clear in his mind's eye, and angrily blamed the cold water around  
him, throwing him off, messing him up. _I_ miss __

him

The cold was still with him as he lay in bed later that night,  
though goodness knew the squalid sleeping platform was warm enough  
with four bodies in it. Gatti snored softly beside him, a contented  
buzz that was hardly annoying, more like a cat's drowsy purr. Dalet  
and Migel were asleep by now too, although they had stayed awake a  
little longer for a bit more furtive heavy petting, once the  
dormitory was all quiet. He had not been able to sleep at all. After  
some deliberation, he very softly and silently got out of bed and  
padded out via his old escape route, heading for Folken's quarters.  
The door was unlocked, of course; Folken intimidated people too much  
for them to dare to nosey about in his rooms while he was absent, and  
even if it had been secured, he knew the combination. He let himself  
in, shivering at the dark and the chill of unlived-in space, and  
crept through to the bedroom, where he crawled into bed and pulled  
the covers up around his shoulders. The sheets and pillows smelled  
like Folken, his hair, his skin, and also carried a trace of his own  
scent. He began to feel a little warmer, that way, wrapped up in  
their intimacy.

'Folken' he whispered. 'I know you can't hear me. I just  
wish you were back wish you were with me wish you would  
make everything right. I know you could.' He kissed the pillow,  
breathing in the ghost of Folken that remained there, and settled  
himself for sleep.

He dreamed of treading water in an enormous bath, warm and  
fragrant with rosewater, mounds of foamy bubbles drifting by like  
icebergs in a polar sea, like floating islands. On one island Dalet  
and Migel were sitting naked in a bower of roses, kissing  
passionately; they both had carrots standing up between their legs  
instead of cocks. On another Dilandau and Van lay locked in a  
sixty-nine position, their bodies elongated and reptilian, two  
serpents, two dragons entwined. Biore was on a little island all by  
himself trying to entice someone to join him, like a siren; Guimel  
was on another in the form of a small chlorine-green sheep placidly  
eating grass.

'Heeeeeeeere sheepy sheepy sheepy,' Biore called, beckoning  
seductively. Guimel gave him a blank, slot-eyed look, said 'Baah' and  
continued to chew. Chesta started to laugh and almost drowned as  
rosewater rushed into his mouth; he had to cough and spit to clear  
his airway, and Migel looked up from peeling Dalet's carrot to shout  
'Stop spitting in the water! It's like piddling in a dog's mouth!'  
Dilandau and Van's bodies undulated in a circle, each swallowing up  
the other. An uninhabited island drifted by and he managed to  
scramble onto it, finding it was rather like walking in deep, warm,  
fluffy snow. He looked up and found that the sky above was a dome of  
stained glass, with leadlighted clouds. A small golden-brown cat with  
Gatti's eyes came purring round his ankles and tried to get into his  
lap.

'Don't be silly,' he said firmly. 'Stop it.' As they drifted  
alongside Guimel's island he put the cat ashore, then quickly pushed  
off with one foot so that his island bobbed away over the water. By  
now, for some reason, both Dalet and Migel had bunny ears (suitable,  
he supposed, for people fucking like rabbits) and Dilandau and Van  
had merged into one enormous snake, swallowing its own tail, scales  
of red and white and black glistening in the sun as it coiled round  
upon itself.

'This is no way to win a war,' he said crossly, 'turning into cute  
animals all over the place.'

'Do you find them so very cute?' said a deep voice, and he turned  
with a heart-throb of joy to find that Folken was stepping out of the  
water, without any of the undignified clambering he had had to resort  
to in order to get on board the island. Warm water streamed down over  
his body; he was naked, aroused, Chesta's fantasy man in every  
detail.

'I've _missed_ you!' he exclaimed, and promptly rolled onto  
his back with his legs spread wide.

'They're not as cute as my little mushroom head,' Folken murmured,  
bending down on hands and knees to lick the pulsing head of Chesta's  
cock, which he abruptly realised, with a shock, was a button  
mushroom. He woke with a jolt, astonished to find that the wet  
licking sensation went on. His hand plunged down and hit a solid  
object, which, in the confusion of semi-consciousness, it took him a  
moment to realise was a human head. Then the familiar texture of the  
hair told him in no uncertain terms that it was Folken's head, just  
as the caressing tongue left him and Folken sat up, rubbing his head  
ruefully.

'Remind me not to try waking you up that way again,' he said.  
'Could you have indicated your displeasure through any means more  
subtle than a blow to the head?'

'Oh no! No!'

'All right then I'm sorry to have annoyed you' Folken  
said, with a grimace of mock contrition.

 _'No!_ Folken, you _haven't_ annoyed me, it _wasn't_

displeasure, I just got a shock when I woke up and you were -  
what are you _doing_ here? I was dreaming about you!' He lunged  
forward and threw his arms around Folken's body, needing to feel that  
he was real and solid and here, not just a waking dream.

'I'm happy to see you too,' Folken murmured, half-chuckling, and  
kissed the crown of Chesta's head. 'I could ask you the same  
question. You weren't to know I was coming home tonight; how did you  
know to be here to surprise me?'

'I didn't I just wanted to be in your room, I was missing  
you so much did everything go all right?'

'Fine. No trouble. A lot of very boring work making adjustments to  
heavy machinery. I was bored out of my skull and missed you like mad.  
It made me realise how much you've changed me, you know. There was a  
time when I couldn't think of anything better to do than crawl around  
in the guts of one of those destiny engines tracking down a bug.'

'A what?'

'Bug. It's an attempt at humour by people who work with intricate  
machines all day. On one occasion a destiny engine malfunctioned and  
had to be taken apart piece by piece to find the fault, which turned  
out to be a dead moth blocking a switch. After that whenever it  
needed to be fixed its handlers would say they had to debug it. No, I  
don't think it's much of a joke either. Anyway, there was a  
monumentally buggy destiny engine back in the capital that needed my  
tender loving care, and it's had it, and is now purring like a  
kitten, which leaves me free to give tender loving care to  
 _you._ Why do you smell like a swimming pool, Chesta dear?'

'I've been in one all day.'

'Are you a good swimmer?'

'Pretty good. Not wonderful.'

'Wait a minute. If I don't kiss you I'm going to burst.' Chesta  
offered his lips very willingly, and they were taken hungrily, in a  
long, deep, pulsing kiss, Folken sucking at his tongue, groaning with  
satisfaction at reclaiming his lover. Chesta straddled his lap to  
press as close to him as possible; Folken was still fully dressed and  
he could not feel much of his shape through all the leather, but he  
felt himself stiff and warm and ready for action, and could not  
resist rubbing against Folken's body. Hands cupped around his bottom,  
one warm and living, one cold and hard, and squeezed his buttocks.  
Eventually they had to break apart, if only to get some air.

'What were you dreaming about me?' Folken asked, panting  
slightly.

 _There are all kinds of things I should tell him. Things he  
really needs to know. But oh, I don't _want _to. Not yet! I've  
only just got him back and he looks so happy. I'm not going to worry  
him yet._

'Can you guess?' he asked, freeing one hand to tug the front of  
his pyjama pants back down and show his erection, still moist with  
Folken's saliva.

'Ah you know, I didn't presume that was about me you  
could have been dreaming of some other pleasure'

'As if. Did you dream about me while you were away?'

'Every night. Every time I closed my eyes! I'd blink and there  
you'd be, just for an instant. Absence makes the heart grow  
fonder and the cock grow harder yes, you see, I've been  
driven to use words like that by the strength of my desire. I'm not  
very good at masturbating - for myself, I mean - but I had to do  
everything I could. Thinking about you, dreaming about you oh  
God. Chesta, can I just here' He fumbled with the  
fastenings of his clothes, succeeding in undoing just enough to  
release himself, seized Chesta's hand and guided it to close around  
the throbbing shaft. 'Oh, yes' He bit his lip as Chesta  
squeezed and pulled his hand back, tugging on his foreskin. Their two  
cocks butted gently together in his lap, strands of pre-come fluid  
stretched like spiderwebs between them.

'Here,' Folken whispered, nudging Chesta's fingers back with his  
good hand. Holding the heads of their penises together, he stretched  
his foreskin to cover Chesta's bare, red, circumcised tip.

'It looks like yours is eating mine up.' Chesta was enthralled by  
the sensation of warm soft skin surrounding him, stretched tight.  
Inside its embrace everything was warm and slippery; the head of his  
cock rolled against Folken's, a blind creature nuzzling in a deep  
sticky burrow. _Maybe this is a little like how it feels for him,  
inside me._ He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to  
control himself, to submit to whatever Folken had in mind. He felt a  
hand close around their joining and begin to surge back and forth; he  
moaned at the friction, the pleasure, the sliding of the hot foreskin  
over his own skin.

'Good?'

'It's _so_ good where the hell did you get an idea like  
this?'

'I did some shopping for you found the shops for naughty  
boys like you brought you books and toys Chesta oh  
love' He pulled him in for a kiss, his hand working faster,  
squeezing them tight, making the pulse in Chesta's groin pound,  
making him quiver, the muscles of his thighs and buttocks tense and  
taut, until he came with a shudder of joy, the white milky gush of it  
oozing from between Folken's fingers. He watched the pumping hand,  
feeling dizzy, dreamy, blissful, as Folken's breathing quickened,  
until his hips jerked and a second spurt seeped from within his  
fist.

'That was amazing,' Chesta breathed. 'I think I like  
you going on business trips if you come back with ideas like that.'  
He gently pinched Folken's shoulder. 'Are you _sure_ you learned  
that from a book? No-one taught you?'

'I'm sure,' Folken said, smiling and shaking his hair back from  
his forehead. 'I saw some very pretty young men around and about but  
not one who could stand comparison with you. If it comes to that,' he  
murmured, giving Chesta the lightest possible nip on the hip with the  
claws of his steel hand, 'have you been letting anyone else touch  
 _you?'_

'Not a soul.'

'Then this is a joyful reunion.' Another deep kiss, twirling his  
tongue around Chesta's.

'Did you say something about books and toys? Did you bring me  
presents?'

'Do you want to see?'

'Yes please. I've been very good while you've been away.'

'Slide out of my lap, then. I'll have to go to my bag.' Depositing  
Chesta on the bed, he got up, letting his skirts drop to the floor as  
he did so. He unfastened the front of his tunic as he walked across  
the room to the valise standing by the bureau and shrugged it off,  
standing in only his sleeveless undershirt. 'A present for a  
 _good_ boy I'm afraid I didn't bring one. As I said, these  
are from a shop for naughty boys.' He crouched down and opened the  
case, looking inside.

'I've been _terribly_ naughty,' Chesta amended. 'Why, I'm so  
naughty I told you I'd been good just in hopes of getting a present.'  
Folken smiled at him over his shoulder and he grinned back  
cheekily.

'Let me see, then' He lifted out a large paper carrier-bag,  
bringing it back to the bed. 'Well, firstly I have a couple more of  
the type of books you're so fond of. _Boys Will Be Boys, Boys Will  
Do Boys_ \- I confess I picked that one mainly because it's such an  
outrageous title - _Deeper, Longer, Harder; Positions Strictly For  
the Experienced_ \- I think that's you and me by now - and  
 _Cherry Juice_ \- another one that just kind of leapt off the  
shelf at me. Who thinks of these things?'

'Perverts like me,' said Chesta happily, admiring their covers and  
then setting them aside for later enjoyment. 'What else?'

'Have a lucky dip.' Chesta reached into the bag and came up with  
several large round beads threaded on a cord.

'What in the world do you propose to do with this?'

'Load them up inside you and then yank them out one at a time. The  
very helpful and informative young gentleman in the shop assures me  
this is a highly sought-after sensation.'

'I can't believe I've never heard of such a thing. It must be like  
popping your thumb out of your mouth.' He did so, with a sound like a  
cork coming out of a bottle. 'Only in your oh God. I can just  
about imagine that.'

'And I thought _I_ had an inventive mind. Then there is  
 _this_ interesting device, which runs on an energist cell and is  
supposed to give you pleasure by vibrating and buzzing in your  
sensitive spots.'

'That I _have_ heard of.' Chesta took the vibrator and turned  
it around in his hands with interest, examining its bumps and  
ridges.

'They've got one of these in the sick bay, just a slightly  
different shape. I've had it on my back to ease muscle cramps. Felt  
very nice. I honestly never considered it having a sexual  
application. In certain specialised ways, I'm very dense.' He reached  
into the bag again and drew out something long and rod-shaped. 'And,  
um, this this is something I'm not quite sure about but I  
though I'd suggest it'

'A double-ended dildo?'

'You've heard of that too?' Folken asked, blushing rather. 'The,  
ah, the idea is that we can both, um'

'Yes, I know. Folken, I never knew you wanted something in  
there.'

'Well,' Folken said, staring at his knees and now blushing  
furiously, 'you seem to like it so much but _because_ you  
like it so much I thought I should be generous and let you have it  
that way each time. So, um so this way you wouldn't need to be  
deprived'

'You are a sweet, sweet man,' Chesta said, and kissed him on the  
cheek. 'I don't know why you didn't ask me to do that when my bum was  
out of order.'

'Well, that didn't seem right either. "Hey-ho, I can't give you  
your favourite pleasure because I was too rough and messed you up,  
you can just give it to me instead." My standards are a bit higher  
than that.'

'You can be on the receiving end any time you like. It might feel  
a bit funny the first time we try it, but I'd love to do that if you  
want it. I just thought you liked to be the man on top. You don't  
need to look so embarrassed.'

'Not so experienced after all, am I,' Folken said, with a  
self-deprecating little laugh.

'But completely and totally gorgeous.' Chesta kissed his cheek  
again. 'How do I turn this thing on, anyway? Whoops - there it goes.'  
He began to giggle helplessly at the buzzing sound the vibrator made  
as it quivered in his hands. 'This is _awful!'_

'If you think that's bad, try turning it up a notch,' Folken  
suggested. Chesta found that the switch clicked over again, and the  
vibrator began to writhe around in a figure eight. He gave a  
hysterical little squeal and threw it at Folken, who batted it away,  
sputtering with laughter also. It fell on the floor and began rolling  
itself over and over, as if determined to make progress, despite a  
somewhat erratic course, towards the bathroom. They leaned against  
each other, almost crying with laughter at the ridiculous thing.

'That is the least erotic thing I've ever seen in my life,' Chesta  
gasped, when he was able to speak. 'When I was a kid I had a toy that  
was a ball with a little energist motor in it, and a fake weasel  
attached, and when you turned it on the ball would roll around as if  
the weasel was pouncing on it. That vibrator moves like my weasel  
ball.' At the words 'weasel ball' he began to laugh helplessly  
again.

'It's nearly in the bathroom,' Folken said, wiping his eyes.  
'Should I try and stop it?'

'No, no, I want to see how far it can get!' Chesta jumped up from  
the bed and ran after it, hopping to kick away the pajama pants  
falling around his ankles as he went. 'It's over the threshold! I can  
report that the vibrator has penetrated the bathroom!'

'It goes faster over tile!' Folken observed, following him.

'And makes more noise,' said Chesta, who was having to lean  
against the doorpost, and was standing on one leg for fear that he  
would pee himself laughing.

'Ooh! An unexpected change of direction! It's headed for the  
shower!'

'Will it make it? Will it make it? Oh no!' The vibrator collided  
with the raised lip at the edge of the shower stall and was unable to  
mount it; it stayed there, impotently squirming and buzzing. Chesta  
was forced to sit down; Folken knelt on the floor and pretended to  
count the vibrator out as if it were a boxer that had lost a match,  
inciting squeaks and hiccups, which were the only noises Chesta was  
capable of producing after laughing so hard. He crawled over to give  
Folken a punch in the shoulder for making it worse, and they  
collapsed together, wrestling and tickling, Folken not making a very  
serious effort, so that Chesta was able to pin him on his back and  
climb astride him, jamming himself down on his erection.

'Oh yes oh yes' It only took a couple of strokes; he  
moaned and grabbed his cock as it spat whiteness over Folken's belly,  
then fell forward to lie cradled in his arms, his breathing gradually  
working its way back to something like normality. The hardness inside  
him was unabated; he reflected with delight and complacency that when  
they paced themselves they could go for hours together. He raised his  
head just enough to kiss Folken's lips. 'Thank you,' he  
whispered.

'That was very quick.'

'I missed having it in there especially.' He glanced up,  
distracted by the buzzing. 'Folken, can't you please turn that poor  
vibrator off? It's working itself into a frenzy.'

'Or we could turn it down a notch, so it's not as weird, and try  
doing something with it,' Folken suggested a little diffidently.  
Chesta caught his eye, saw the suppressed eagerness there.

'Absolutely,' he said softly, and reached out for it.

 

Folken woke up gradually, becoming aware of the ache in his rear  
as consciousness filtered back. He felt vaguely proud of it, like a  
battle scar or something like that. He had astonished himself last  
night; the more he had taken, the more he had wanted, and the more he  
seemed able to receive.

'I can't _believe_ you,' Chesta had said, hesitating with  
four well-lubricated fingers inside. 'Are you _sure_ about  
this?'

'Yes please' He had braced himself, lying on his back  
with legs drawn up to his chest, opening and relaxing the sphincter  
muscle as much as he could, and with a sensation of incredulous,  
shameful delight, felt the boy's whole hand slide in, gently curling  
to a fist. It made him whimper; it made his legs shake like palsy; it  
made beads of sweat pop out on his skin. And then, to his  
astonishment, it made him beg Chesta to push deeper, to slather his  
arm with lubricant and continue until Folken's body embraced him up  
to the elbow. By this time Chesta looked positively frightened.

'Folken,' he said quietly, 'you're bleeding. Really bleeding. Are  
you _sure_ about this?'

'Yes'

'You're seriously telling me it feels good?'

 _'Yes_ move it'

'I can't believe I'm doing this,' Chesta muttered, very slowly and  
carefully drawing back and then pressing in, making Folken squirm in  
ecstasy. The pleasure was about fifty percent pain, and somehow that  
didn't trouble him at all. _Well well. Masochism, another facet of  
my delightful personality. _Chesta evidently had a guilty  
conscience; he bent to suck Folken's cock as he proceeded to gently  
pump his arm inside him. He could no longer make a sound, only  
tremble with the thrill of it. They had discovered a quirk of his  
body, that anal penetration made his erection drop to half-mast; now  
it surged back to full, hard, throbbing life. Chesta's fist had  
passed through the second sphincter muscle deep within him; the two  
tight-stretched rings were pulsing purple epicentres of sensation and  
his prostate was filled with boiling liquid metal. _That's  
that's why I'm so hardliquid metal instead of blood oh  
God, oh God, I'm not sure I'm not dying_ As he came his  
whole body convulsed, shivering; the pain was lost in an internal  
supernova of delight.

Chesta's relief at pulling out was evident; he had to do that very  
gradually too, terrified of making the damage any worse.

'It's all right,' Folken assured him faintly. 'Perfectly all  
right I can get a stitch in it if I need to'

'What in God's name would you tell the nurse you'd done?' Chesta  
wadded up a corner of the top sheet and pressed it between Folken's  
buttocks.

'Put something far too big in there, obviously,' Folken said, with  
a weak laugh. 'It'll be all right, sweetheart mucous membranes  
heal quickly'

'I didn't get that impression from how you panicked when _I_  
bled.'

'It it doesn't matter so much if it's only me my  
body's already spoiled but yours is perfect. I want to keep it  
perfect.'

'You're going to have _such_ a sore ass,' Chesta said  
fretfully.

'And every time it gives me a twinge I'll remember how wonderful  
you made me feel.'

'Folken, you're insane.'

'I think I must be.'

'Stop giggling, it's not funny.'

'You're being very strict with me.'

'Hold this.' He placed Folken's hand over the wadded sheet and  
pressed it down. 'I'm going to wash my arm and find you some cotton  
wool or something. I can't believe I _did_ that.'

'You did it extremely well. It helps that you've got a nice  
slender arm.'

'Thank heaven for small mercies,' Chesta said, a little  
sarcastically, as he went into the bathroom.

The prediction had been perfectly correct; he was prepared to bet  
real money that he had the sorest ass on the Vione that morning. He  
still felt stupidly happy. The clock said six twenty AM, which meant  
that they had slept through the alarm and it was far too late to  
return Chesta to the dormitory without being noticed, and he didn't  
really care.

Chesta stirred slightly beside him, his tousled hair tickling  
Folken's shoulder.

'Good morning, little darling.'

'Wstfgl.'

'We've overslept.'

Chesta's eyes sprang open and he bolted up into a sitting  
position. 'Oh, _fuck.'_

'Language!'

'Sorry sorry. By how much? Oh Gawd.' He sank back down and  
hid his face against Folken's chest.

'Don't worry. I'll write you a note or something. It's dodgy, but  
we can probably pull it off this once. I can say I can say I  
needed you for something to do with Dilandau's recovery. He was  
hysterical and needed to see a familiar face to calm him.'

'Um. No, you can't.'

'Why not?'

'Because Dilandau-sama's already recovered. By himself.'

'He's what?'

'He turned back by himself. I don't know exactly what happened. I  
didn't tell you last night because, well, we were celebrating, but  
there are some things I need to bring you up to date on.  
Dilandau-sama's himself again. He and your brother are sleeping  
together and everyone knows it. Dilandau-sama's not doing any work  
and Migel Labariel is trying to keep things orderly but everything's  
going to hell in a handbasket and we have absolutely no supervision.  
No-one really knows what's going on and we daren't draw any  
higher-ups' attention to what's happening. So um I'm  
hoping you can sort everything out.'

'My God,' said Folken. 'Things are that much out of control  
already? I never anticipated' He trailed off thoughtfully.

'What do you mean?'

'I'm just trying to think what to do. They've publicly declared  
that they're - I mean'

'Very publicly. Everyone could hear the screaming.'

 _'Screaming?'_

'Apparently Dilandau-sama likes it even rougher than I do. I don't  
wish to go into detail.'

'I don't know what to make of this.'

'Well, that makes sixteen of us.'

'Pardon?'

'You, me, all the other Dragonslayers.'

'Oh right I suppose the first thing to do is have some  
kind of talk with Van'

'Except the way things are going, if you walk into his room you're  
liable to find him doing God knows what to Dilandau-sama.'

'I could knock,' Folken suggested with an attempt at grim  
humour.

'This is why I shouldn't have gone along with the fisting. Having  
a sore bum is evidently affecting your ability to come up with  
plans.'

'Give me time, ungrateful brat,' said Folken, giving him an  
affectionate pinch. 'I'll come up with something. Heaven knows how.  
It seems as though the moment I take my eyes off anything, it goes  
haywire.'

'You don't seem too worried about this.'

'I'm still euphoric from last night. Don't look so angsty,  
mushroom-head. Everything will work out for the best. That's my job,  
remember?' He drew Chesta closer and nuzzled into the side of his  
neck, enjoying the peachskin texture. 'Why don't you stay here all  
day? Relax, catch up on your sleep, play with me when I have a moment  
to spare if things are as chaotic as you say it'll hardly make  
a difference.'

'Do you really think so?'

'We can use your Dalet-bamboozling story. You're on a secret  
assignment for me. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is  
to spend a whole day reading dirty books, playing with sex toys and  
eating something nice that I'll order for lunch. Think you can handle  
that?'

'Folken, seriously.'

'Seriously. I want to watch you masturbate with that dildo again.  
You were so _cute.'_

'Are you sure it's all right?'

'I'm sure. Trust me, cuddlebunny.'

 _'Cuddlebunny?_ Are you a Doppelganger pretending to be  
Folken? Because if so I'm going to _kill_ you for tricking me  
into sleeping with you.'

Folken looked hurt. 'All right, I won't try out any new pet-names  
without your permission. I don't see why you have to be so suspicious  
of me seeming a bit happier.'

'I - I'm sorry. It's just that it's been very weird without you  
and I expected you to take this more seriously.'

'I do take it seriously. I'm just not panicking. Now relax. We'll  
have a shower, I, at least, will get dressed, and I'll start trying  
to impose order on chaos. Everything will be all right, I  
promise.'


	27. Chapter 27

Dilandau woke early in the morning, abnormally early, and lay  
unsuccessfully trying to go back to sleep for some time. He didn't  
want to disturb Van, whose mood had been up and down all the previous  
evening.

 _I can't believe I'm lying here_ worrying _about him. It's  
_ stupid. _But he looks so vulnerable in his sleep, and for the  
first time in my life I'm feeling like his vulnerability is something  
to protect, not to attack. This is insane. But when he started  
talking last night telling me things like I was Celena, like he  
could say anything he's so lonely, and unhappy, and there's  
someone gentle and patient in there, as well as the sexy bastard who  
pushes me around. He deserves to be protected like I can't help  
believing he'd protect me._

 _It's_ so _stupid._

He was nearly dozing when he thought he felt Van hit him, and sat  
up indignantly. Once he looked he could see that the cuff on the  
shoulder hadn't been intentional; Van was apparently dreaming rather  
violently. As Dilandau watched, he flung out both arms as if trying  
to fend someone or something away from him.

'Hey,' he said quietly, nudging him. 'Wake up.' Van did not seem  
to hear him; he curled up in a twitching ball, then stretched out  
abruptly, his back arching stiffly.

'Van wake _up,_ you're dreaming.'

'No no, stop it' Van muttered. His voice was thick and  
blurry-sounding, seeming to come from a long way down within him.  
'Stop it, it's wrong!'

'Oh, stop making a fuss, you liked it.'

'Brother, _stop!'_

'Oh,' said Dilandau, rattled. 'Well, yes, that _is_ wrong.  
Come on, Van, wake up.' He took hold of the other boy's shoulders and  
gave him a shake. Van seemed impossible to wake, locked into his  
nightmare. Suddenly, to Dilandau's shock, he arched his back again  
and screamed, sounding as if he were in agony.

'Shut up!' Dilandau said, panicking. He tried to put his hand over  
Van's mouth, to hold him down, but he could not stop him  
screaming.

'Van, wake up! You're _scaring_ me! Wake up!' He shook Van  
roughly, then, despairing of getting through any other way, hauled  
off and gave him a good hard slap across the face. That seemed to do  
the trick; Van woke with a gasp and a spasm and stared at him,  
blinking to focus.

'You were having a nightmare and thrashing all over the place,'  
Dilandau said. 'You freak.' Feeling thoroughly foolish, he bent and  
hugged Van, feeling how he trembled as he wrapped his arms around  
him, how desperately he clung.

'It was terrible,' Van whispered. 'I can't remember it properly,  
but I think I was suffocating, or drowning, or dying'

'You were yelling at your brother. Was he doing something to  
you?'

'I I can't remember God, my head  
 _hurts'_

'Van, would you just take something for it? Go back on your meds,  
for God's sake! You're scary when you're like this.'

'I can't. I _can't_. Ngh' He curled up again, clutching  
at his head, whimpering in pain.

'Van' He looked around, helplessly. 'Well, if you're going  
to be an idiot, I'll just have to hold onto you until you feel  
better. Oh, shit - Van, your nose is bleeding. Should I - should I  
get someone? Van, talk to me, what's _wrong?'_

''m going to be sick,' Van said, and scrambled off the bed. He  
reached the toilet in time to drop on his knees and retch, coughing  
and sniffing.

'This is _gross_ ,' Dilandau said. Without really thinking  
about it, he knelt beside Van and pulled his hair back from his  
face.

'It hurts _so_ much,' Van said, and began to cry, helplessly.  
He crossed his arms over the toilet seat and leant his forehead on  
them, trying to hide his tearstained, bloodstained face. To his  
surprise, he felt Dilandau's arms wrap around him again, the other  
boy nestling close, resting his cheek on his shoulder.

'It's going to be all right,' Dilandau murmured. 'When I turn into  
Celena, that hurts like crap. But I get through it and then I feel  
all right. I'll stay with you as long as it's like this. Or I'll get  
someone to help if you want me to. Just don't think I don't  
understand or don't care, okay?'

'Di-Dilandau'

'It's going to be all right. Promise.'

'You don't know that.'

'I mean I want to _make_ it all right.' He tightened his  
embrace for a moment, a gentle squeeze for emphasis. 'You ought to be  
ashamed of yourself, making me feel this way. Listen, do you want to  
get into the shower? You're sweating bullets might make you  
feel a bit better to rinse off.'

'Okay' Weakly, Van let Dilandau arrange everything, turning  
on the water, balancing the hot and cold taps to get a pleasant  
temperature, guiding him into the stall and helping him to sit down,  
leaning against him, their bodies nestling together.

'You told me how you like to feel water falling on your  
skin' Dilandau murmured. 'How you'd play under that little  
waterfall in the stream in the castle garden, how when it started to  
rain, you'd want to take off your clothes and run out to play in  
it and if Folken was in charge he'd let you' He felt  
Van's whole body stiffen, every muscle tightening.

'Folken'

'Okay, I won't mention him if it upsets you you talked about  
him a lot last night, though, how it was when you were  
kids'

'Oh God'

'You're not going to chuck again, are you?'

'He he drugged me'

'But you stopped taking the meds.'

'No! Before they were only to maintain what he did to  
me he tied me down to a slab and stuck a needle in my arm and  
took my _mind_ away from me!' He was shivering, despite the warm  
water.

'Oh, ew'

'All this everything I've been thinking everything I  
thought I _knew_ about him is just something he put into my  
head! I can remember how things really were now. I remember I didn't  
want to, told him no, tried to get away I shouldn't have gone  
back. I was so _dumb._ Hitomi came to get me and I just ran away  
from her!'

'Who's Hitomi when she's at home?'

'She's not at home, she's from - okay, you know the girl Allen  
told you was his new paramour?'

Dilandau felt rather glad he had asked Van a question; trying to  
collect himself enough to answer it seemed to have calmed him a  
little. 'Yeah,' he said, surreptitiously rubbing Van's upper arms,  
trying to smooth down the goosebumps. 'Skinny little thing, mostly  
eyes and legs, clothes like you wouldn't wear on a bet.'

'That's Hitomi. She's she's kind of my friend, I guess. By  
now. I mean, initially she just followed me home and I sort of got  
stuck looking after her but she came to find me she's a  
nice girl and I was mostly mad at her' He covered his face with  
his hands.

'Oh. I think I can identify.'

'You're not a nice girl.'

'I can turn into one!' He was pleased to hear Van almost laugh.  
'So isn't she really Allen's bit of fluff? I guess that makes it a  
little better. I couldn't believe the _sleaze_ of him.'

'You're the sleaziest person I know, though.'

'Not like _that._ Mr Super-Smooth Girly-Hair  
Ladykiller-Pants.' Now Van laughed properly. 'That's better. You  
feeling better?'

'The head pain's going away. But there's all this stuff coming  
back into my mind what he's done to me, what's really going  
on.'

'Which is?'

'He made me forget about being King of Fanelia. Not that I  
 _was_ king, what it meant I had to do. He made me think I loved  
him best in all the world! How self-centred can he _be?_ "Oh,  
poor me, no-one loves me because I'm a freaky bastard who had his own  
homeland burned to the ground, I need a little brother who'll worship  
the ground I walk on!" How could he think it was right to _do_

that? Any of that? It's disgusting!' He turned his head to stare at  
Dilandau. 'I bet he's responsible for you turning into Celena. Or  
Celena turning into you. Who do you think you were originally?'

'I don't know,' said Dilandau uncomfortably.

'Well, how far back in your childhood can you remember?'

'That doesn't prove anything. Lots of people can't remember things  
from when they were really little.'

'Just think. How old are you in your earliest Dilandau  
memory?'

'I'm I'm five or six, I suppose.'

'And in Celena's oldest memory?'

'I I don't know. Celena's confused about a lot of things.  
She's not good at time and dates.'

'What is that first memory?'

'Well no, look, Folken can't be the one who did it to me.  
Because what I remember is seeing him for the first time. The  
the men in black cloaks got me dressed and took me to a meeting. They  
had me walking in this little harness with a leash. Like toddler  
reins. There were lots of people and someone wanted to know what  
everyone had done, and the men in black cloaks showed me. One of them  
picked me up to put me on the table and I managed to bite his arm.  
Folken came over and looked at me, and he reached out his hand to  
touch me, so I bit him too, except it was his metal hand so I just  
hurt my teeth. He said I was interesting. I thought he was  
interesting too because he was the first person I'd seen with red  
eyes like mine. Then he and the men in black cloaks started having an  
argument, and they got really mad at him, and he called them a lot of  
names and tried to pick me up and take me away, and someone else -  
there was someone I couldn't see who had a really loud voice -  
shouted at him to stop, and give me back. Then he started arguing  
with the loud person and everyone was ignoring me, so I went under  
the table and did forward rolls.' He stopped and looked embarrassed.  
'I mean, I was _five.'_

'That's a weird memory. What happened after that?'

'I can't remember. There's lots of stuff I don't remember, when I  
was that little. I don't know why I remember _that_ part, except  
maybe because I thought Folken was interesting. And I know I hadn't  
seen him before then.'

'It doesn't prove anything,' Van said darkly.

'That's what I said to begin with. Van if he's been  
controlling your mind, does that mean he made you do everything  
you've done here?'

'No. No, he doesn't control my mind. He just sort of set it up at  
the start, what I'd believe, and let me go from there.'

'So'

'So, yes, _I_ decided to be with you, not him.' He smiled,  
very gently for Van. 'Is that what you were wondering?'

'Sort of,' Dilandau mumbled, blushing.

'But the way I've been behaving some of that has been  
changed by the drugs. It must be. Things like how rough I've  
been on you, how mean I was to you in the beginning that's just  
not me. Not me as I've always been. That really scares me. I mean, I  
might feel that way about someone, but I wouldn't act on it. It's  
like the barrier was dropped and I just went ahead and did whatever I  
felt like to you. Dilandau I'm sorry.'

'Well, if it was the drugs it wasn't your fault, was it,' Dilandau  
said, still in an embrarrassed mumble. He couldn't look him in the  
eye.

'I can't look at it that way. I'm sorry. I was horrible to you. I  
don't deserve for you to be with me now.'

'It's not like _I_ was nice to you.'

'You're being nice to me now.'

'I know. Dunno what's wrong with me.'

'I think something's coming right in both of us.'

'Then why's it got to be so painful and weird?'

'Life _is_ painful and weird.' Turning his head, Van kissed  
him on the lips. 'Will you forgive me? For everything?'

'Don't see how I can. I mean, there's all the stuff I did. I  
haven't got any _right_ to forgive you.'

'I forgive you.' Another kiss, deep and soft. 'Everything.'

'Then - then I guess I do too. So we're even.'

'Mm' There was a trace of Van's familiar aggression in the  
enthusiasm of his kisses; he turned his body, shifting position to  
face Dilandau, embrace him. There was still a sour taste in his  
mouth, from being sick; to his astonishment, Dilandau found he was  
prepared to overlook that. He just wanted to be kissed, to feel Van  
in control again. That meant everything was all right.

'Dilandau?'

'Hmm?'

'I can't stay here.'

'You want to get out of the shower?'

'I mean on the _Vione._ I can't stay here. I have to leave,  
preferably before my brother gets back and there's a scene. I've got  
responsibilities. I need to find Merle and look after her. I have to  
fight to protect Fanelia, what's left of it. End this war. Try and  
help my people. And Balgus promised Hitomi we'd find a way to send  
her home. I have to keep that promise. I can't stay here and enjoy  
myself with you.'

'What are you saying?' Dilandau's heart began to beat slowly and  
painfully. 'You'd fight us again? You'd fight _me?_ Van, you  
know if you go out there again, it'll be me and my boys they send  
after you.'

Van drew back, standing up. 'And if they sent you,' he asked,  
stepping out of the shower, 'would you go?'

The water felt cold on Dilandau's skin. He folded his arms over  
his head, drawing his knees up to his chest, shivering, trying to  
think, to overcome the feeling of helplessness and panic rising up  
inside him. He could hear Van cleaning his teeth.

 _He can't be serious. He can't._

'Are you ever coming out of there?' Van called to him. He was out  
in the bedroom now. Moving slowly, feeling trance-like, Dilandau  
stood up and turned off the taps. He smoothed his wet hair back from  
his forehead and stepped out of the stall, walking out of the  
bathroom without bothering with a towel.

'Do you mean it?' he asked bluntly.

Van was getting dressed, pulling on his trousers. He looked up at  
Dilandau, his gaze calm and direct. 'I mean it,' he said. 'Would you  
come after me to kill me, Dilandau?'

 _God, I'm cold._ Stiffly, Dilandau folded his arms across his  
chest. 'You seriously think I could?'

'I need to hear it from you.'

'I couldn't do it. No way.' He shook his head.

'It'd be different. Imagine us in our guymelefs. It's less  
personal, isn't it?'

'Not the way I feel about it. My guymelef _is_ me. And now I  
know you _know_ you Escaflowne isn't just some huge  
suit of armour. Every blow I struck would be a cut on your bare  
skin.' He put out a hand, touching Van's chest, pressing his palm to  
his heartbeat. 'And somehow, for whatever reason, I don't really  
relish the thought of that any more.' He laughed, weakly. 'I don't  
know when my feelings about you changed. I don't even know for sure  
whose feelings they are. Dilandau and Celena are mixed up inside me.  
Sometimes I think I wanted you from the first time I saw you, and  
sometimes I still think "Why am I doing this with a guy I can't  
stand?". But I know I can't hurt you. I can't be on the other side  
from you again.'

Van laid a hand over Dilandau's, not speaking, but holding him  
there.

'S-so,' Dilandau went on, his voice shaking a little, 'if I won't  
fight you I'm pretty much screwed here, aren't I? I'll be in  
shit up to my neck. Lose my command and everything.'

'That's true.'

Dilandau gazed down at their hands for a moment, damp locks of  
hair falling forward and screening his face. Then he raised his head,  
shaking them back, and gave Van a broad smile.

'So you'd better appreciate what you're getting. The only way I  
come with you is if I'm your favourite forever. I eat at your table,  
I sleep in your bed you treat me _nice.'_

'Like a princess,' Van said, returning the grin.

'Oh, shut up.'

'So you want to run away with me? You'll enter the service of  
Fanelia?'

'I can't believe I'm saying it, but yes. I mean, the alternative  
stinks. I'd probably get court-martialled.'

'You don't _have_ to come with me. You could go it  
alone.'

'And miss you all the time? Fuck that.'

'Come here.' Van pulled him close and kissed him, wrapping his  
arms around him regardless of how wet he was.

'Can't believe I've just made a decision like that.'

'I can feel you shaking.'

'You'd better make it worth my while.'

'I'll do my best. There's one more thing we should do.' Van  
stepped away and reached for his sword, hanging in its scabbard from  
the bedpost. He drew the shining blade and nodded to Dilandau. 'You  
should kneel for this.'

'Why?' Dilandau asked, kneeling a little hesitantly. 'What're you  
going to do?'

'On one knee. Pretend you're asking me to marry you.'

'I'm not asking for that.'

'I know.' He watched as Dilandau shifted position. 'Aren't you  
cold?'

'I'm freezing.'

'Then I'll be quick.' He held the sword over Dilandau's right  
shoulder. 'I dub you a knight of Fanelia, to loyally serve the King  
all the days of your life.' The blade touched his bare skin, lifting  
before it could cut, and went over his head to the left shoulder. 'I  
bind you to me always.' Another light touch. Dilandau turned his head  
to look at the blade, at the ripple of its wicked edge, at his own  
garnet eyes reflected in the bright steel, their pupils darkly  
dilated. _I bind you to me always. The sneaky bastard just married  
us, in a way. I hope he doesn't think all this makes him the boss.  
I'll disabuse him of that notion if I need to._ Closing his eyes,  
he set the tip of his tongue to the smooth flat of the blade and ran  
it a little way up the length of the sword. He heard Van laugh  
softly.

'You're so weird. Now put some clothes on.'


	28. Chapter 28

Rather mechanically, feeling as if his body was an Alseides with a  
small, far-away person somewhere inside controlling it, Dilandau  
dried himself off and got dressed, fully dressed, putting on the  
armour he had discarded here, resuming his slick black-and-red shell.  
He stood in front of the small bathroom mirror fiddling with his hair  
while Van bustled around making a bundle of things he wanted to bring  
with them.

'Where are your knickers?' he called out.

'My what?'

'Your nice little Celena knickers.'

'I don't know, probably under the bed.' Dilandau looked out of the  
bathroom alcove. 'Why are you bringing those?'

'Well, we don't know if you'll be Celena again sometime in the  
future, so it makes sense to bring her clothes. And I like to see you  
in 'em.' He flashed a wolfish grin over his shoulder as he dropped to  
his knees and reached under the bed to search. 'Got 'em.'

'Well, what else are you bringing?' Dilandau leaned against the  
doorframe. Now the decision had been taken, he was feeling ambivalent  
about it; it had all been too sudden. Van seemed so positive about  
everything, it was easy to be carried along; but he had to ask  
himself how clearly he was really thinking. He seemed wired.

'Change of clothes, undies and socks, pen and paper 'cause they  
might be handy - bare minimum. I want to be more comfortable than I  
was leaving Fanelia, with just the clothes I stood up in. Do you want  
to collect anything from your dorm before we go?'

'I guess my trenchcoat, my hair things'

'Then we'll do that, fast, and be out of here.'

'What's your plan?'

'It's simple, it's linear - hangar, Escaflowne, outta here.'

'If you think I'm leaving without my Alseides, you've got another  
think coming.'

'All right, then. Good point. You won't be able to fight much for  
me without a melef, and I don't know where I'd get you another  
one.'

'God, it's weird to think of fighting on your side.'

'You can't back out now.'

'I'm just absorbing it. I mean, I've always been good at snap  
decisions. That's one of my strengths in battle. I don't usually have  
this long to sit around and _think_ about what I've decided  
before it goes into action.'

'We're in action now.' Van tied up the top of the bundle, made  
with one of his bedsheets, and pulled Dilandau close to kiss him.  
'Don't get scared.'

'I'm never scared.'

'I love how you say that.' The word love made Dilandau even more  
nervous; the implications of that strange knighthood were weighing in  
on him and he was fairly sure that soon Van would want a declaration  
he wasn't even sure he could give. _You want me to move from  
'friends with some antagonism' to true lovers forever in the space of  
time it took you to think of it storms ahead._

'Let's go, then,' he said. 'Shouldn't be anyone in the dorm at  
this time of day.'

As he gathered his things, he found himself wanting to make a  
delay here, kept thinking of more things he needed.

'You'll have limited space in your Alseides, remember,' Van said.  
'You've got to tie this on the outside or fit it in your cockpit with  
you. Don't overpack.'

'I need my mirror,' Dilandau said stubbornly.

'So you can make sure you look lovely for me,' Van said  
teasingly.

'Whatever,' he muttered, making a last check of his foot-locker,  
hoping there was something he couldn't do without. In all honesty,  
that wasn't true. His whole life, pretty much, was bundled into a  
bed-sheet and ready to go wherever he did. He gazed up and down the  
length of the dormitory.

'God, they've let themselves go without me.' The beds were pushed  
about higgledy-piggledy, most of them 'made' only in the sense that  
the covers had been pulled up. Someone had drawn antennae and cat  
ears on the portrait of Dornkirk.

'You'll miss them, won't you.'

'I'm not going to get mushy about it.' He pulled a notepad and a  
pencil from his nightstand, where they rested on top of his  
textbooks. 'But I'll leave a note. Just so they know what's going  
on.'

His own handwriting looked strange to him in this moment, perhaps  
because he was concentrating on it so intensely. Angular black print;  
he watched the letters take shape.

 _Attention all Dragonslayers. I have had to leave you. I'm going  
with Van. I'll be all right. You were good soldiers for me. I know I  
yelled a lot but that's what I thought. I'll remember you. Do your  
duty and try not to screw up so much and you'll be fine. Yours truly,  
Dilandau Albatou._

His hands shook a little as he laid the pad down on the red quilt.  
Van leaned forward and read it over.

'And now you're mine truly,' he whispered in Dilandau's ear,  
wrapping his arms around him from behind and giving a squeeze. 'Let's  
not hang around here any longer. I want to be out in the sky.'

'Okay no, wait, I just have to go to the toilet first.'

'Di _lan_ dau'

'Maybe I wasn't brought up as well as you but I do know better  
than to go on a long trip with a full bladder.'

'The longer we delay, the more chance of someone seeing us and  
getting in the way.'

'I am _not_ going to piss in my Alseides.'

'Fine, fine'

After that, Dilandau couldn't think of any more plausible stalling  
tactics. He slung the bedsheet bundle over his shoulder and followed  
Van towards the melef hangar. _I'm seeing these corridors for the  
last time I'm leaving the place where I sat on the lion throne,  
to sit at the foot of another man's throne once he gets another  
throne, I guess, because the old one probably burned up I wish  
my stomach would settle down._

 _What if he doesn't keep feeling this way? What if it was all  
the drugs and the effects haven't fully worn off yet? What if he  
turns on me and kills me later? Stabs me while I sleep beside him? Oh  
fuck, oh fuck, I can't do this. But I can't _not _do it._

 

'Please, promise me you won't do this again. You could do yourself  
permanent damage.' The doctor pulled the last stitch firm and  
finished off, and Folken relaxed his bite on the medical bed's  
pillow. The local anaesthetic had not been entirely effective, but he  
was too impatient to wait for a second shot to work better.

'I understand that it's tempting to experiment at your age, but  
you must bear in mind that your body has limitations.' The dear  
polite man was obviously doing his level best not to show distaste or  
disapproval, to remain objective and helpful, although Folken  
suspected he couldn't think of anything more revolting than pushing a  
large object into your own rectum for the sensation it produced.

'I will, doctor. Don't worry.'

'Because the risk of peritonitis if there's internal  
rupture'

'Doctor. I know all about peritonitis. My peritoneum is at no risk  
from my sexual proclivities.' _That was mean,_ he scolded  
himself. _You said it just to make him uncomfortable._ He was  
both perplexed and amused by his continuing don't-give-a-hoot state  
of mind.

'Be careful, that's all I'm saying. You'll need to take extra care  
with personal hygiene until this heals.' Folken listened patiently  
while the doctor gave his aftercare instructions, all the time  
wondering what Chesta might be up to, naked and slender and silky in  
his bed.

As he turned the corner into the corridor leading to his rooms, he  
felt a sudden tightening in his chest, at first simply a discomfort  
like indigestion, then a choking squeeze of his heart that forced him  
to grab for the wall, sliding down to his knees and struggling to  
breathe.

 _Someone's interfering with Escaflowne again. Maybe that little  
fool Dilandau. Or maybe no, Van wouldn't try that, would he? I  
told him not to. Better go and see. Oh I wanted to see  
Chesta_

The pain ebbed away and he was able to stand up. _Well I  
can at least _see _him. Quickly._

'Chesta?'

Chesta looked up from the pages of _Cherry Juice_ , which he  
was finding an absorbing one-handed read, and saw Folken standing in  
the doorway, with rather a hovering air.

'You're back already?' he asked, breaking into a smile. 'You don't  
have much self-control when you know I'm here all day.'

'I _was_ coming back, but I've got to go again - I just  
thought I would pop in. You're quite content?'

'Completely. You can see that.'

'Good boy. I just have to take care of something in the hangar.  
See a man about a dog.'

'Go on, then.'

'I wish I _wanted_ to. I'll be back soon, all right?'

'Folken, you don't need my permission to go,' Chesta said,  
laughing softly.

'Bye.'

'Bye.'

 

The hangar was quiet when he arrived; no sign of the turmoil that  
there would have been if the interference with Escaflowne had sparked  
an explosion. That must mean that Van was on hand; his touch would  
have soothed the dragon. Folken did not find that a comforting  
thought. There were no guards about, and that was definitely not  
right. Would Van have been so deceitful as to use his position as the  
Strategos' brother as authority to dismiss them? What was he doing?  
He took care to move silently as he approached the bay that held  
Escaflowne, and emerged from a shadow in such a way as to surprise  
anyone who was loitering there.

Van and Dilandau stared at him like startled rabbits, guilty as  
children stealing sweets. They were releasing the restraints on the  
guymelef, preparing it to leave.

'Van?' Folken moved closer. 'What are you doing, brother? I've  
told you it isn't safe.'

'There's nothing wrong with Escaflowne,' Van mumbled. 'You're not  
having any work done on it at all, I can see that. You just wanted to  
keep me away from it.' He would not look Folken in the eye; his gaze  
slid about evasively, reminding Folken of the behaviour of a  
north-pole magnet when you tried to press it to another  
north-pole.

'I believe that your illness was the result of joining with  
Escaflowne,' he said, extempore. 'It was too much of a strain for  
your nervous system. I didn't want you to risk doing anything that  
would result in a relapse.'

'Why didn't you just tell me that?'

'I thought it might worry you I was only concerned for your  
wellbeing, Van. I wanted you to forget about Escaflowne, if possible.  
It can only harm you.' He was close enough now to touch his brother;  
he gently put his hands on his shoulders, or at least on the red  
shells of armour covering them.

Van looked up and deeply into Folken's eyes, his gaze steady and  
untroubled.

'Bullshit, brother,' he said softly.

Folken opened his mouth to say 'What?' and ended up biting his  
tongue as Van's fist came up and smashed into his chin. He staggered  
back, dazed and pained, and felt an explosion in his head as  
something hard struck him from behind.

 

 _This is just marvellous now I have a pain in my ass  
_ and _in my head. Ugh pulsing together._ As he regained  
consciousness, an urgent thought tried to draw his attention away  
from his bodily discomfort. _Van hit me!_ The shock was still  
fresh and jarring. _And Dilandau must have clubbed me from behind  
after that ow. What are my hands tied to? _He opened his  
eyes, and with some difficulty, because he was giddy and his head  
wobbled alarmingly if he tried to lift it, made out that his hands  
were bound behind his back and fastened to the railing of one of the  
hangar catwalks. Van and Dilandau were still somewhere close; he  
could hear their voices.

'Just leave him. He can't stop us.' Dilandau, sounding panicky and  
irritable.

'He's waking up.'

'Then let's get out of here before he breaks loose. You think a  
rope's going to hold that claw? You were the one that wanted to get  
out of here before we met anyone.'

'But now we _have_ met him. I can't go without _saying_  
something.'

'You said something! You said bullshit! I thought that summed it  
all up, that and the uppercut!'

'I've got to make him understand,' Van said doggedly. Folken  
raised his head a little higher, feeling ill, and saw him striding  
over, his movements sharp and jerky. Dropping on one knee, Van took  
Folken's bruised chin in his hand and forced it up, glaring into his  
eyes.

'I've remembered everything,' he said. 'What you did to me. I  
stopped taking your damn medication and I got my own mind back. I'm  
not your puppet any more, Folken. Even if you didn't pull the strings  
much, that was what you made me, and you were kidding yourself to say  
any differently. When you lied to me so much, I'm not surprised you'd  
lie to yourself.'

'I know,' Folken said, a little indistinctly, because his bitten  
tongue had swollen up rather.

'I'm leaving to do what I should always have been doing. I can  
never get back the time you made me lose, you poisoning bastard. But  
I'm taking someone to help me catch up. Dilandau's coming with me.  
He's mine now.'

'I know,' Folken said patiently.

'How? You spy on us, as well as lie to me? Did you enjoy the show?  
Pervert!'

'I had you under surveillance initially,' Folken said. Speaking  
was painful; the words thumped and echoed in his head. 'But I didn't  
watch anything intimate.'

'How _virtuous_ of you. You couldn't watch the dirty boys,  
could you? You're too pure. I know about you, Folken, I know you've  
got some little slut of your own.'

'Hey, that could be interpreted to mean I'm _your_ slut,  
which I resent,' Dilandau said peevishly, outside Folken's field of  
vision.

'You lied about _everything,'_ Van hissed, his eyes fiercely  
bright. 'I loved all your lies. I never loved you. Not _this_  
you. The brother I loved has been dead for years.'

'I'm sorry, Van'

'That doesn't help.'

'I know I was wrong I wanted to set you free'

'Bullshit! Everything you say is _bullshit!'_

'Van,' Dilandau interrupted. 'Let's go.' He came into view, pale  
and fidgety, and stared down at Folken with distaste, hands on hips.  
'It won't do any good to talk at him. He's still going to think he's  
right about everything.'

'No, you don't understand' Folken protested. 'I couldn't  
tell you because'

'Shut up,' Van snapped, squeezing his jaw shut. 'You couldn't  
control me, Folken. You want to control everything but you couldn't  
control me. I broke out and I did _my_ thing. I've had secrets  
from you the whole time. I sneak out and fly. Dilandau's seen my  
wings and he loves them.' He shook Folken angrily. 'What are you  
laughing about?'

Another weak chuckle escaped from Folken. 'Oh, I'm just shocked at  
the incidence of homosexuality in the military.'

'You're insane.'

'Well, it did use to be diagnosed as a form of insanity, or  
perversion. Then they found out it was genetic runs in  
families do you understand, Van? Does it help at all if you  
know you and I have that in common?'

'What? No! Shit, no! Don't try and get my sympathy that way. I  
don't care who you're fucking. It's the lying about it that gets  
me.'

'Well you like your privacy too'

'Shut up. We're leaving. And I'm going to live from now on as if  
my brother were dead. The only reason I'm not going to kill you is  
that I don't want that sin on my head.' Van got up and turned  
away.

'Dilandau,' Folken said, managing to hold up his head, now that it  
was a little less muzzy.

'What?'

'Take care of my brother, won't you?'

'Whatever,' Dilandau said, uncomfortably.

'Do you want to know about _your_ brother?'

'What?' He had the boy's full attention now.

'I did some research. I wasn't involved in your project from the  
beginning. I never approved of it. You should know that. But I've  
found out for you, if you want to know, who Celena is who your  
family are'

'Dilandau!' Van called sharply.

'I - I want to hear this'

'He'll lie to you! Like he lied to me!'

'I have no reason to lie to Dilandau,' Folken said. 'Take this as  
a sign of good faith, if you will. A sign that I honestly meant you  
no harm, and wish you well.'

'Stop yapping about yourself and tell me about _me,'_

Dilandau said anxiously, crouching down in front of him.

'You were born Celena Schezar,' Folken said. 'Dilandau Albatou is  
a person created by the sorcerers, through experiments in fate  
alteration. He's a real person, but he was made from Celena.'

'Oh my God,' Dilandau murmured. His face was even paler than  
usual, greyish under the eyes, as he absorbed the information. 'And -  
and my family?'

'Schezar. You know the name Schezar, don't you?'

'What, as in _Allen_ Schezar?' Dilandau's jaw dropped. 'I'm  
related to _that?'_

'He's your elder brother,' Folken explained patiently. 'Go and  
find him. Tell him who you are - show him Celena if you can. He'll  
give you all the help he can. And Van? My most recent information  
indicates that your companions, the two girls, are still travelling  
with him. You can find them all together.'

'You're fucking _joking,'_ Dilandau said faintly. 'Allen  
 _Schezar? Really?_ God, how embarrassing'

'You can't choose your family,' Folken said, with a weak smile.  
'At least your brother might not be such a disappointment to you as  
I've been to Van he may even surprise you pleasantly.'

'Aw, hell' Dilandau straightened up, passing a hand through  
his hair, distracted.

'Dilandau,' Van said, from inside Escaflowne, his voice echoing  
slightly. 'Forget him. Go and get into your Alseides. We're leaving  
now.'

'Right,' said Dilandau. 'Right.' He cast one more disturbed look  
at Folken. 'Goodbye, Strategos. Um - thanks for the information.'

'Take care of him,' Folken said again. 'He has a very gentle  
heart. I hope I haven't ruined it.'

'Don't worry,' Dilandau said. 'It's still in there somewhere.' He  
turned away and ran to his Alseides. Folken let himself sag back to  
rest his head on the cool metal floor, listening vaguely to the  
sounds of their departure.

 _My brother's gone my brother's gone my brother's  
free. _A few warm tears leaked down his face, trickling alongside  
his nose and running down to his lips. Dilandau was right, he could  
free himself any time he wanted to, with the strength of his steel  
hand, but he felt no volition to do so, only to lie here and wait for  
the throbbing in his head to abate. He judged himself to be pretty  
well concussed, and wondered if he could afford a day or two of bed  
rest to recover. There was always so much to do, though

He heard hesitant footsteps entering the hangar; they drew closer,  
then broke into a run; whoever it was must have seen him.

'Folken!' It was Chesta's voice, high with alarm. He lifted his  
head and saw the boy running towards him, dressed in one of his own  
shirts and what he vaguely realised were Van's old trousers, his  
clothes from Fanelia that Folken had folded away into a drawer,  
sentimentally unwilling to destroy or discard things of the old  
country, however inconsistent that might seem.

'Don't worry, Chess, I'm all right.'

Chesta dropped to his knees with a clang and began to fumble with  
the cords binding Folken's hands to the railing.

'I just got this bad feeling, this terribly bad feeling that you  
were in trouble,' he stammered. 'I should've come sooner, I  
shouldn't've messed around trying to find clothes I could wear! I  
just thought it would look funny to wander round in pyjamas in the  
daytime oh Folken, the rope's burned your wrist they  
pulled it so tight who _did_ this to you?' He tugged the  
loosened rope away and helped Folken to sit up.

'Van and Dilandau,' Folken said simply. He raised his good hand  
tentatively to his head and felt a very respectable bump at the back.  
There was some blood in his hair. 'They've run away together.'

'That's terrible!'

'Actually, it's perfect.' He gazed at his bloodied fingers for a  
moment before wiping them on his skirts. 'Do you mind if we just sit  
here for a minute? I think my head will fall off if I get up too  
quickly.'

'Of course. Here lean on me what do you mean,  
perfect?'

Folken began to laugh again, quietly, a low chuckle in his  
chest.

'Folken?'

'I'm a traitor, Chess. If I tell you about it you'll be an  
accessory. Do you want to play?'

'You've been so _strange_ since you came back. What _is_  
going on?'

'I wasn't going to tell you yet I was afraid it would affect  
how it worked if anyone but me knew but you deserve to know.  
That destiny machine that I was tinkering with in the capital? I  
haven't just fixed it. I've completely reprogrammed the bastard. And  
sabotaged it. I've put a virus into its system that will spread to  
all the others, every time they make a connection on the network.  
They'll go on working for a while working for a completely  
different fate. Working for random fortune. And then they'll go

 _phut_. No more great advantage for Zaibach. No more war to end  
war. Which is, to use an expression foreign to me, a crock of shit.  
It took you to make me see through it, Chess you and Van  
I think I could only believe in it as long as I saw it as the only  
way to get what I'd always wished for. But then my wishes began to  
come true, in the most unexpected ways, and my perceptions  
changed I think bringing Van here in the first place may have  
had an effect I didn't foresee. It's his nature to introduce a random  
element he _is_ a random element throws off all our  
calculations, sets all our work at naught wonderful boy. I  
don't know if he's made this happen, this running off, or if I helped  
it happen, or what, and it's wonderful and right that I shouldn't  
know. I don't want to change fate any more. No-one should do it. Not  
for other people. We each have a measure of control over our own  
personal fate, and that's all we should aspire to. Free will's a  
lovely thing, Chess. I should've read _Paradise Lost_ more  
carefully.'

'Paradise?'

'Another book from the Mystic Moon another old writer,  
another mad genius out of that world. A blind man with a vision. I  
read it with too much of a bias. Sympathy for the devil. Never mind.  
Sufficient to stand, but free to fall better to reign in hell  
than serve in heaven wonderful poetry. Excuse me. I'm all  
woozy.'

'Folken seriously, are you okay?'

'I'm going to be okay. I'm going to run away too, Chesta. Take  
Nariya and Eriya and go to another place. Do you want to come with  
me?'

'Of course I do. Do you even need to ask?'

'It's a lot to ask. I've found a way, built a device to send us  
there, the Mystic Moon. I think it's the only place we'll be safe  
once they find out what I've done. And it's a new start. Dornkirk  
came here for a new start, to do what he couldn't do in his life  
there. This will complete the exchange balance the  
equation but it won't be easy or simple. Are you willing to  
leave this world with me?'

Chesta bit his lip, thinking. 'I only have an uncle here,' he  
said. 'You know that. He doesn't really need me back.'

'It will still be possible to have communication with this world.  
You can send letters to your friends. And we can warn them before we  
leave, so they can prepare themselves for what's to come.' Folken put  
his arm around Chesta's shoulders, resting his cheek against the top  
of the boy's head.

'So Dalet will be all right?'

'Dalet will have a fair chance. It's as much as I can give him; as  
much as I can give anyone.'

'Then then I want to come I want to be wherever you  
are.'

'It's a lot to adjust to. I will, at least, make sure we go to an  
English-speaking country. I hope you paid attention in your English  
classes.'

'The teacher even praised my accent.'

'That's my boy. So much to do to find us a place to  
live a school for you, a business for me I want to work  
for something _good_ this time. No more militarism and  
overlords.'

'Do I _have_ to go to school?' Chesta asked, wrinkling his  
nose.

'Yes. If I become your guardian as well as your lover I'm damn'  
well going to be a responsible one. You'll go to school and the  
dentist and the doctor, and have healthy extracurricular activities,  
and be as well-adjusted and well-rounded as you can be under the  
circumstances.'

'Can we live in the mountains?'

'Mountains? All right I'll keep mountains in mind I  
can't promise anything'

'Folken, I really think you should see a doctor. You're all  
white.'

'I'll be ready to get up and walk in a minute.' He lifted his  
head, and tilted Chesta's face around and up with a gentle touch. 'I  
wouldn't have believed, not so long ago, that I'd come to this  
but it feels right. In my heart _and_ my head. Even if both of  
them are cracked.' He kissed him softly on the lips. 'Doctor  
then we can pack whatever we want to take you can talk to  
Dalet and I'll get Nariya and Eriya, and get our transport  
ready in my room. I want to remove myself totally from this  
situation, for the good of everyone. I've done nothing but harm the  
more deeply involved I got. I'll leave it up to Van. I have great  
faith in him, and the trail of chaos he spreads through my best-laid  
plans.'

'I have faith in _you_ , you know,' Chesta whispered.

'Thank you. That'll keep me going.' Awkwardly, leaning heavily on  
Chesta's shoulder and the catwalk railing, he levered himself to his  
feet. 'Let's get out of here.'

 

Only when night began to fall did Van and Dilandau put down. They  
had flown far from the _Vione_ , making for the heart of Asturia,  
hoping to find information on the whereabouts of the _Crusade_  
there; Escaflowne riding the thermals like an impossible stone kite  
while the Alseides buzzed alongside.

They landed in a forest clearing, close to the course of a small  
river. Dilandau clambered out of the cockpit and leapt lightly to the  
ground, glancing around cautiously. Van was dismounting from  
Escaflowne, once more in its giant-armour form. Tomorrow they would  
have to walk until they found a high enough place for him to jump off  
from, Dilandau supposed. It would have been more sensible to take two  
Alseides, but there was no way Van would have left Escaflowne. He sat  
down on the grass, then dropped to lie on his back, gazing up at the  
darkening sky. He heard Van's footsteps as he walked over, then  
settled himself at his side.

'Can't lie here forever,' he murmured. 'We'll need to make a fire  
and get something to eat.'

'Oh, I bet you can find some grubs or something,' Dilandau said. A  
few stars were showing now, soft in the evening blueness. His view of  
them was obscured as Van rolled over and straddled his body, bowing  
his head to kiss him.

'Thank you,' he whispered. 'I'll look after you, you know.'

'Folken asked me to do that for you.'

'I don't want to hear his name.' Van kissed him again, more  
deeply. 'I want to forget him and make love to you. Tonight, there's  
nothing for me but you the world can wait until morning.'

 _There's that L-word again. But I could get used to it. My demon  
king _His arms crept around Van's body, holding him close as  
their tongues stroked one another in the warm darkness of a kiss.

'Tonight,' said Van, pulling back with a crooked smile that told  
Dilandau, quite certainly, that he didn't need to worry about Van  
going soft on him, 'I want to hear you scream _my_ name.'

 **Probably The End**


End file.
